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THE 

ART    OF    BEING    HAPPY 

FROM  THE  FRENCH  OP  DROZ, 

'SUR   L'ART    D'ETRE   HEUREUX;' 

IN  A  SERIES  OF  LETTERS 

FEOM 

A  FATHER  TO  HIS  CHILDREN: 


OBSERVATIONS    AND    COMMENTS 


BY     TIMOTHY     FLINT. 


sua  si  bonna  norint.'—  VIRGIL. 


BOSTON, 

P  'J  BLISHED  BY  CARTER  AND  HENDEE. 

1832. 


ENTERED  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1832, 

By  CARTER  AIVD   HEJVDEE, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


THE  text,  upon  which  the  following  observations  and 
comments  are  based,  does  not  assume  to  be  a  literal  trans- 
lation of  the  celebrated  work  of  Droz.  The  original  is 
strongly  idiomatic  ;  and  the  author  has  carried  an  un- 
common talent  of  being  laconic  sometimes  to  the  point  of 
obscurity.  I  have  often  found  it  impossible  to  convey  to 
the  English  reader  a  sentiment,  perfectly  obvious  in  the 
original,  in  as  few  words  as  are  there  used.  The  French, 
in  its  more  numerous  articles,  more  allowable  and  bold 
personifications,  and  arbitrary  use  of  gender,  has,  in  the 
hand  of  certain  writers,  this  advantage  over  our  lan- 
guage. When  the  doctrines  of  the  book  are  compared 
one  with  the  other,  and  each  with  the  general  bearing  of 
1  the  work,  the  inculcation,  namely,  of  the  truth  that  virtue 
is  happiness,  there  will  be  found  nothing  immoral  or  re- 
prehensible in  it.  The  author,  on  the  whole,  leans  to 
.  the  Epicurean  philosophy.  Unfavorable,  though  erroneous 
~~-  impressions  have  been  very  generally  entertained  of  that 
philosophy.  In  deference  to  that  opinion,  I  have  altogeth- 
er omitted  the  few  sentences,  which  seemed  appropriate  to 
some  of  the  dogmas  of  the  Epicureans.  Nothing  can  be 


IV 


more  remote  from  their  alleged  impiety,  than  the  general 
tenor  of  this  work.  One  of  its  most  eloquent  and  im- 
pressive chapters  is  that  upon  religion.  There  is  a  dis- 
tinct class  in  France,  both  numerous  and  important,  the 
literatures.  Many  of  the  remarks  of  the  author,  bearing 
chiefly  upon  that  class,  seemed  inapplicable,  or  unintelligi- 
ble in  our  country,  where  there  is  no  such  class  to  ad- 
dress. I  have  passed  over  many  passages  and  parts  of 
chapters,  which  had  an  almost  exclusive  reference  to  per- 
sons in  that  walk  in  life.  I  have  added  members  of  sen- 
tences, and  even  whole  sentences  to  the  text,  where  such 
additions  seemed  necessary  to  develope  the  doctrine  to  an 
English  reader. 

In  a  word,  I  do  not  offer  the  text,  as  an  exact  translation, 
but  as  the  only  .treatise  within  the  compass  of  my  reading, 
which  has  discussed  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  as  a  science 
or  an  art ;  and  as  one  which  has  advanced  more  elo- 
quent and  impressive  sentiments  upon  the  subject,  than 
I  have  elsewhere  met.  With  the  slight  alterations,  which 
I  have  made,  I  have  found  this  book  to  meet  my  own 
thoughts ;  and  I  have  laid  out  of  the  text  all  phrases  and 
passages,  which  spoke  otherwise.  I  have  availed  myself 
of  the  words  of  another,  because  they  have  expressed  my 
own  views  better  than  I  could  have  hoped  to  express 
them  myself.  This  explanation  will  be  my  reply  to  all 
remarks,  touching  mistranslation,  or  liberties  taken  with 
the  author. 


ERRATA. 

Page  44,  last  line,  dele  the  5. 

Page  111,  5th  line  from  bottom,  dele  29. 

Page  121,  end  of  second  paragraph,  dele  32. 

Page  149, 2d  line  from  top,  dele  51. 

Page'200,  for  Note  5,  page  44,  read  6,  page  45. 


CONTENTS. 


P.'ge. 

LETTER  I. 

Introduction,      .        .        .        ...    •  •/•  •' \  ••  ••••  -.•-.? 

LETTER  II. 
The  Physical,  Organic  and  Moral  Laws,      V;-..    •-,'•        8 

LETTER  III. 
The  same  subject  continued,    .        .;.;..        .          25 

LETTER  IV. 
General  Views  of  the  subject,      .....      39 

LETTER  V. 
Our  Desires, -•,-.:,,••••-'. -.^^^      45 

LETTER  VI. 
Tranquillity  of  Mind,    .        .        .      -V,}  V  •v::i',.»a:;  i:      51 

LETTER  VII. 
Of  Misfortune,  .        .        .        .       *  -.   /     />--<      58 

LETTER  VIII. 
Of  Independence,     'A  ;> ;-    .        .        .        .        .        .      G7 

LETTER  IX. 
Of  Health,        .        .        .       ..s"^ ••?&?•.$  :a  *&  n'.^      73 

LETTER  X. 
Of  Competence,    .        .        .        .     ^  .        .     ^  .        .83 

LETTER  XI. 

Of  Opinion,  and  the  Affection  of  Men,     .       '.      i ..         90 


Vlll 

LETTER  XII. 
Of  the  Sentiment  Men  ought  to  Inspire,        .        .        .95 

LETTER  XIII. 
Of  some  of  the  Virtues,    ...        .        .        .        100 

LETTER  XIV. 
Of  Marriage,        .        .        ;        ...        .        .    108 

LETTER  XV. 
Of  Children,      .        ../.;:,  ^     .        .        .        117 

LETTER  XVI. 

Of  Friendship, 124 

LETTER  XVII. 

The  Pleasures  of  the  Senses, 129 

LETTER  XVIU. 
The  Pleasures  of  the  Heart,         .        .        .        .        .     134 

LETTER  XIX. 
The  Pleasures  of  the  Understanding,        .        .        .        139 

LETTER  XX. 
The  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,        .        .        •       ,  •     144 

LETTER  XXI. 
Melancholy,       .        .        .        .  '      .        .        ;        .         148 

LETTER  XXII. 

Religious  Sentiments,   .        .        .        .        j        .        .    154 

LETTER  XXIII. 
Of  the  Rapidity  of  Life,    .        .        .        .        .        .        163 

LETTER  XXIV. 

On  Death, 170 

LETTER  XXV. 

Conclusion  of  Droz  '  SurVArt  d'Etre  HeureuseJ        .        176 

LETTER  XXVI. 
The  Choice  of  a  Profession,         .        .        .  182 


NOTES, .    193-313 


THE 


ART  OF  BEING  HAPPY 


LETTER  I. 

THE  following  thoughts,  my  dear  children,  are  those 
of  an  affectionate  father  going  out  of  life,  to  those  he 
most  loves,  who  are  coming  forward  in  it.  I  am  per- 
fectly aware,  that  nothing  but  time  can  impart  all  the 
dear  bought  instruction  of  experience.  Upon  innumer- 
able questions,  that  relate  to  life,  you  will  receive  efii- 
cient  teaching  only  by  reaping  the  fruit  of  your  own 
errors.  But  one  who  has  preceded  you  on  the  journey, 
who  has  listened  to  the  impressive  oracles  of  years,  may 
impart  some  aid  if  you  will  listen  with  docility,  to  enable 
you  to  anticipate  the  lessons  of  experimental  acquaint- 
ance with  the  world.  In  what  I  am  about  to  write,  I 
trust  I  may  bring  you  this  aid.  As  you  embark  on 
the  uncertain  voyage,  I  cannot  but  hope,  that  your  filial 
piety  will  incline  you  to  a  frequent  recurrence  to  the  pa- 
rental chart.  You  are  aware,  that  circumstances  have 
brought  me  into  contact  with  all  conditions,  and  into  a 
view  of  all  the  aspects  of  life.  I  ought,  therefore,  to  be 
qualified  to  impart  useful  lessons  upon  the  evils  and 
dangers  of  inexperience.  You,  at  least,  will  not  see 
1 


assumption  in  such  lessons,  when  they  result  from  the 
remembrance  of  my  own  errors.  You  may  consider 
what  follows,  whether  it  be  my  own  remarks,  or  what 
I  have  adopted  from  others,  as  the  gleanings  of  ex- 
perimental instruction,  from  what  1  have  myself  seen, 
felt,  suffered,  or  enjoyed  ;  and  as  my  comments  upon 
the  influence,  which  my  election  of  alternatives  has  had, 
upon  the  amount  of  my  own  enjoyment  or  suffering. 

You  will  find  enough  who  are  ready  to  inspire  you 
with  indifference  or  disdain  for  such  counsels.  They 
will  indolently,  and  yet  confidently,  assure  you,  that  the 
theoretical  discussion  of  the  pursuit  of  happiness  is,  of 
all  visionary  investigations,  the  most  profitless  and  inap- 
plicable ;  that  lecture,  write,  preach  as  we  may,  the  fu- 
ture will  be,  perhaps  ought  to  be,  as  the  past ;  that  the 
world  is  always  growing  older,  without  ever  growing 
wiser;  and  that  men  are  evidently  no  more  successful 
in  their  search  after  happiness  now,  than  in  the  remotest 
periods  of  recorded  history.  They  will  affirm  that  man 
has  always  been  the  sport  of  accident,  the  slave  of  his 
passions,  the  creature  of  circumstances ;  that  it  is  useless 
to  reason,  vain  to  consult  rules,  imbecile  to  surrender 
independence,  to  follow  the  guidance  of  those  who  as- 
sume to  be  wise,  or  receive  instruction  from  those  who 
have  been  taught  by  years.  They  will  allege  the  utter 
inefficacy  of  the  lights  of  reason,  philosophy,  and 
religion,  judging  from  the  little  illumination,  which  they 
have  hitherto  shed  upon  the  paths  of  life.  On  the  same 
ground,  and  from  the  same  reasonings,  they  might  de- 
claim against  every  attempt,  in  every  form  to  render  the 
world  wiser  and  happier.  With  equal  propriety  they 
might  say,  '  close  the  pulpit,  silence  the  press,  cease  from 


3 


parental  discipline,  moral  suasion,  and  the  training  of 
education.  Do  what  you  will,  the  world  will  go  on  as 
before.'  Who  does  not  see  the  absurdity  of  such  lan- 
guage ?  Because  we  cannot  do  everything,  shall  we  do 
nothing  ?  Because  the  million  float  towards  the  invisi- 
ble future  without  any  pole  star,  or  guided  only  by  the 
presumption  of  general  opinion,  is  it  proof  conclusive 
that  none  have  been  rendered  happier  in  consequence 
of  having  followed  wiser  guidance,  and  pursued  happi- 
ness by  system  ? 

Such  is  the  practical  creed  of  the  great  mass,  with 
whom  you  will  be  associated  in  life.  I,  on  the  contrary, 
think  entirely  with  the  French  philosopher,  whose  pre- 
cepts you  are  about  to  read,  that  this  general  persua- 
sion is  palpably  false  and  fatal ;  that  much  suffering  may 
be  avoided,  and  much  enjoyment  obtained  by  following 
rules,  and  pursuing  happiness  by  system  ;  that  I  have 
had  the  fortune  to  meet  with  numbers,  who  were  visible 
proofs  that  men  may  learn  how  to  be  happy.  I  am 
confident  that  the  far  greater  portion  of  human  suffering 
is  of  our  own  procuring,  the  result  of  ignorance  and 
mistaken  views,  and  that  it  is  a  superfluous  and  unne- 
cessary mixture  of  bitterness  in  the  cup  of  human  life. 
I  firmly  believe  that  the  greater  number  of  deaths,  in- 
stead of  being  the  result  of  specific  diseases,  to  which 
they  are  attributed,  are  really  caused  by  a  series  of 
imperceptible  malign  influences,  springing  from  corroding 
cares,  griefs,  and  disappointments.  To  say,  that  more 
than  half  of  the  human  race  die  of  sorrow,  and  a  bro- 
ken heart,  or  in  some  way  fall  victims  to  their  passions, 
may  seem  like  advancing  a  revolting  doctrine  j  but  it  is, 
nevertheless,  in  my  mind,  a  simple  truth. 


We  do  not  see  the  operations  of  grief  upon  some 
one  or  all  the  countless  frail  and  delicate  constituents  of 
human  life.  But  if  physiology  could  look  through  the 
infinitely  complicated  web  of  our  structure  with  the 
power  of  the  solar  microscope,  it  would  heholcl  every 
chagrin  searing  some  nerve,  paralyzing  the  action  of 
some  organ,  or  closing  some  capillary ;  and  that 
every  sigh  draws  its  drop  of  life  blood  from  the  heart. 
Nature  is  slow  in  resenting  her  injuries ;  but  the 
memory  of  them  is  indelibly  impressed,  and  treasured 
up  for  a  late,  but  certain  revenge.  Nervousness, 
lowness  of  spirits,  headache,  and  all  the  countless 
train  of  morbid  and  deranged  corporeal  and  mental 
action,  are,  at  once,  the  cause  and  the  effect  of  sorrow 
and  anxiety,  increased  by  a  constant  series  of  action 
and  reaction.  Thought  and  care  become  impressed 
upon  the  brow.  The  bland  essence  of  cheerfulness 
evaporates.  The  head  becomes  shorn  of  its  locks ;  and 
the  frosts  of  winter  gather  on  the  temples.  These  con- 
current influences  silently  sap  the  stamina  of  life  j  until, 
aided  by  some  adventitious  circumstance,  which  we  call 
cold,  fever,  epidemic,  dyspepsia  —  death  lays  his  hand 
upon  the  frame  that  by  the  sorrows  and  cares  of  life 
was  prepared  for  his  dread  office.  The  bills  of  mortal- 
ity assign  a  name  to  the  mortal  disease  different  from 
the  true  one. 

Cheerfulness  and  equanimity  are  about  the  only 
traits  that  have  invariably  marked  the  life  of  those 
who  have  lived  to  extreme  old  age.  Nothing  is 
more  clearly  settled  by  experience,  than  that  grief  acts 
as  a  slow  poison,  not  only  in  the  immediate  infliction  of 
pain,  but  in  gradually  impairing  the  powers  of  life,  and 
in  subtracting  from  the  sum  of  our  days. 


If,  then,  by  any  process  of  instruction,  discipline  and 
mental  force,  we  can  influence  our  circumstances,  ban- 
ish grief  and  create  cheerfulness,  we  can,  in  the  same 
degree,  reduce  rules,  for  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  to  a 
system;  and  make  that  system  a  matter  of  science. 
Can  we  not  do  this  ?  The  very  million  who  deride  the 
idea  of  seeking  for  enjoyment  through  the  medium  of 
instruction,  unconsciously  exercise  the  power  in  question 
to  a  certain  extent —  lliough  not  to  the  extent,  of  which 
they  are  capable.  All  those  wise  individuals,  who  have 
travelled  with  equanimity  and  cheerfulness  through  the 
diversified  scenes  of  life,  making  the  most  of  its  good, 
and  the  least  of  its  evils,  bear  a  general  testimony  to 
the  truth  of  this  fact.  We  find  in  them  a  conviction 
that  they  had  such  pawer,  and  a  force  of  character 
that  enabled  them  to  act  according  to  their  convictions. 

No  person  deserves  the  name  of  a  philosopher,  who 
is  not  wise  in  relation  to  the  great  purpose  of  life.  In  the 
same  proportion,  then,  as  I  convince  you,  that  by  our  own 
voluntary,  physical  and  mental  discipline,  we  can  act 
upon  circumstances,  and  influence  our  temperament,  and 
thus  bear  directly  upon  our  happiness,  I  shall  be  able  to 
stir  up  your  powers,  and  call  forth  your  energy  of  char- 
acter, to  apply  that  discipline  in  your  own  case.  In 
'the  same  proportion  I  shall  be  instrumental  in  training 
you  to  the  highest  exercise  of  your  reason,  and  the  at- 
tainment of  true  philosophy. 

The  elements  upon  which  you  are  to  operate,  are 
your  circumstances,  habits,  and  modes  of  thinking  and 
acting.  The  philosopher  of  circumstances  *  denies  that 

*  E.  g.  Robert  Owen  and  others  of  the  atheistical  school. 
1* 


6 


you  can  act  upon  these.  But,  by  his  unwearied  efforts 
to  propagate  his  system,  he  proves,  that  he  does  not 
himself  act  upon  his  avowed  convictions.  The  impulse 
of  all  our  actions  from  birth  to  death,  the  spring  of  all 
our  movements  is  a  conviction,  that  we  can  alter  and  im- 
prove our  condition.  We  have  a  consciousness  stronger 
than  our  reason,  that  we  can  control  our  circumstances. 
We  can  change  our  regimen  and  habits ;  and  by  pa- 
tience and  perseverance,  even  our  temperament.  Every 
one  can  cite  innumerable  and  most  melancholy  instances 
of  those  who  have  done  it  for  evil.  The  habit  of  in- 
dulging in  opium,  tobacco,  ardent  spirits,  or  any  of  the 
pernicious  narcotics,  soon  reduces  the  physical  and 
mental  constitution  to  that  temperament,  in  which  these 
stimulants  are  felt  to  be  necessary.  A  correspond- 
ing change  is  produced  in  the  mind  and  disposition. 
The  frequent  and  regular  use  of  medicine,  though  it 
may  have  been  wholly  unnecessary  at  first,  finally  be- 
comes an  inveterate  habit.  No  phenomenon  of  phy- 
siology is  more  striking,  than  the  facility  with  which  the 
human  constitution  immediately  commences  a  conformity 
to  whatsoever  change  of  circumstances,  as  of  climate, 
habit,  or  aliment,  we  impose  upon  it.  It  is  a  most  im- 
pressive proof,  that  the  Creator  has  formed  man  capable 
of  becoming  the  creature  of  all  climates  and  conditions. 
If  we  may  change  our  temperament  both  of  body  and 
mind  for  evil,  as  innumerable  examples  prove  that  we 
may,  why  not  as  easily  for  good  ?  Our  habits  certainly 
are  under  our  control;  and  our  modes  of  thinking,  how- 
ever little  the  process  may  have  been  explained,  are,  in 
some  way,  shaped  by  our  voluntary  discipline.  We  have 
high  powers  of  self-command,  as  every  one  who  has  made 


the  effort  to  exercise  them,  must  be  conscious.  We 
have  inexhaustible  moral  force  for  self-direction,  if  we 
will  only  recognise  and  exert  it.  We  owe  most  of  our 
disgusts  and  disappointments,  our  corroding  passions  and 
unreasonable  desires,  our  fretfulness,  gloom  and  self- 
torment,  neither  to  nature  nor  fate  ;  but  to  ourselves,  and 
our  reckless  indifference  to  those  rules,  that  ought  to 
guide  our  pursuit  of  happiness.  Let  a  higher  educa- 
tion and  a  truer  wisdom  disenthral  us  from  our  passions, 
and  dispel  the  mists  of  opinion  and  silence  the  authority 
of  example.  Let  us  commence  the  pursuit  of  happiness 
on  the  right  course,  and  seek  it  where  alone  it  is  to  be 
found.  Equanimity  and  moderation  will  shed  their  mild 
radiance  upon  our  enjoyments ;  and  in  our  reverses  we 
shall  summon  resignation  and  force  of  character ;  and, 
according  to  the  sublime  ancient  maxim,  we  shall  become 
masters  of  events  and  of  ourselves. 

I  am  sensible  that  there  will  always  be  a  sufficient 
number  of  those,  deemed  philosophers,  who,  notwith- 
standing their  rules,  have  wandered  far  from  their  aim. 
Such  there  will  always  be,  so  long  as  there  are  stirring 
passions  within  or  hidden  dangers  around  us  ;  and  there 
will  be  shipwrecks,  so  long  as  human  cupidity  and  ambi- 
tion tempt  self-confident  and  unskilful  mariners  upon  the 
fickle  and  tumultuous  bosom  of  the  ocean.  But  is  this 
proof  that  a  disciplined  pilot  would  not  be  most  likely 
to  make  the  voyage  in  safety,  or  that  the  study  of  navi- 
gation is  useless  ? 

My  affectionate  desire  is,  to  draw  your  attention  to 
those  moral  resources  which  your  Creator  has  placed  at 
your  command.  How  many  millions  have  floated  down 
the  current  in  the  indolent  supineness  of  inactivity,  who, 


8 


had  they  been  aware  of  their  internal  means  of  active 
resistance,  would  have  risen  above  the  pressure  of  their 
circumstances  !  Who  can  deny,  that  there  is  a  manifest 
difference,  even  as  things  now  are,  between  the  moral 
courage  of  action  and  endurance,  put  forth  by  a  disci- 
plined and  reflecting  mind,  possessing  force  of  character, 
and  the  stupid  and  passive  abandonment,  with  which  a 
savage  meets  pain  and  death  ? 

May  you  speed  on  your  voyage  under  the  influence 
of  the  litcida  siclera,  or,  in  higher  phrase,  may  Provi" 
dence  be  your  guide. 


LETTER    II. 


THE    PHYSICAL,     ORGANIC    AND    MORAL    LAWS. 

IN  relation  to  this  most  important  subject,  read  Combe 
on  the  Constitution  of  Man,  a  book,  which  I  consider 
admirable  for  its  broad,  philosophic,  and  just  views  of 
the  laws  of  the  universe,  in  their  bearing  upon  the  con- 
stitution of  our  physical  and  moral  nature.  You  are 
not  unaware,  that  I  had  presented  you  similar  views, 
and  inculcated  the  same  master  principles,  long  before 
this  excellent  work  was  published.  Thousands,  in  all 
Hges,  have  entertained  the  same  extended  conceptions 
of  the  divine  plan,  and  its  bearing  upon  man  and  all  be- 
ings, upon  this  and  all  other  worlds.  But  the  honor 
belongs  to  this  author,  to  have  given  form  and  system- 
atic arrangement  to  these  views.  I  have  given  mj 


9 


thoughts  upon  this  subject  at  the  commencement  of  my 
letters,  and  have  subjoined  remarks  upon  the  Christian 
religion  at  the  close,  because  I  deem  that  M.  Droz.  in 
not  recurring  to  these  fundamental  principles  at  the  begin- 
ning of  his  work,  and  in  dwelling  with  so  little  earnest- 
ness upon  the  hope  of  the  gospel,  as  an  element  of 
happiness,  at  the  close,  has  left  chasms  in  it  which  ought 
to  be  supplied. 

The  sect,  numerous  in  my  day,  in  yours,  I  trust,  will 
have  disappeared,  who  hold  that  religion  and  philosophy 
are  militant  and  irreconcilable  principles.  Such  persons 
are  accustomed  to  brand  these  broad  views  of  Provi- 
dence and  moral  obligation  with  the  odium  of  impiety. 
You  will  hardly  need  my  assurance,  that,  if  I  thought 
with  them,  my  right  hand  should  forget  its  cunning, 
before  I  would  allow  anything  to  escape  my  pen  which 
might  have  the  least  tendency  to  impair  in  your  minds 
the  future  and  eternal  sanctions  of  virtue.  I  shall 
hereafter  enlarge  upon  my  persuasion,  that,  so  far  from 
being  in  opposition,  religion  and  philosophy,  when  rightly 
understood,  will  be  found  resting  on  the  same  immutable 
foundation.  It  is  because  the  misguided  friends  of 
religion  have  attempted  to  sustain  them,  as  separate  and 
hostile  interests,  in  my  view,  that  the  former  has  made 
so  little  progress  towards  becoming  universal.  It  will 
one  day  be  understood,  that  whatever  wars  with 
reason  and  common  sense,  is  equally  hostile  to  reli- 
gion. The  simple  and  unchangeable  truths  of  Chris- 
tianity will  be  found  to  violate  none  of  our  most  obvious 
convictions.  Truth  will  reassume  her  legitimate  reign. 
Piety,  religion  and  morals,  our  best  interests  for  this  life, 
and  our  surest  preparations  for  a  future  one,  will  be 


10 


found  exactly  conformable  to  the  eternal  order  of  things, 
and  the  system  of  the  gospel  will  become  universal, 
according  to  its  legitimate  claims.  True  piety,  in  my 
mind,  is  equally  our  duty,  our  wisdom  and  happiness. 
To  behold  God  everywhere  in  his  works,  to  hold  com- 
munion with  him  in  a  contemplative  and  admiring  spirit, 
to  love,  and  trust  him,  to  find,  in  the  deep  and  constantly 
present  persuasion  of  his  being  and  attributes,  a  senti- 
ment of  exhaustless  cheerfulness  and  excitement  to  duty, 
I  hold  to  be  the  source  of  the  purest  and  sublimest 
pleasure,  that  earth  can  afford. 

True  philosophy  unfolds  the  design  of  final  causes 
with  a  calm  and  humble  wisdom.  It  finds  the  Creator 
everywhere,  and  always  acting  in  wisdom  and  power. 
It  traces  the  highest  benevolence  of  intention,  where  the 
first  aspect  showed  no  apparent  purpose,  or  one  that 
seemed  to  tend  to  misery  ;  offering  new  inducements  to 
learn  the  first  and  last  lesson  of  religion,  and  the 
ultimate  attainment  of  human  wisdom  —  resignation  to 
the  will  of  God.  In  vindicating  his  ways  to  men,  it 
declares  that  so  long  as  we  do  not  understand  the  laws 
of  our  being  and  so  long  as  we  transgress  them,  either 
ignorantly,  or  wilfully  and  unconsciously,  misery  to 
ourselves  must  just  as  certainly  follow  as  that  we  can 
neither  resist  nor  circumvent  them  ;  and  that  the  Omnip- 
otent has  forged  every  link  of  the  chain,  that  connects 
our  own  unhappiness  with  every  transgression  of  the 
laws  of  our  nature. 

We  find  ourselves  making  a  part  of  an  existing  uni- 
verse which  neither  ignorance,  nor  wisdom,  doubting, 
nor  confidence  can  alter.  If  we '  know  the  order,  of 
which  we  are  the  subjects,  and  conform  to  it,  we  are 


11 

happy.  If  we  ignorantly,  or  wilfully  transgress  it,  the 
order  is  in  no  degree  changed,  or  impeded.  It  moves 
irresistibly  on,  and  the  opposition  is  crushed.  How  wis- 
dom and  benevolence  are  reconcilable  with  the  permis- 
sion of  this  ignorance  and  opposition,  in  other  words, 
why  partial  evil  exists  in  God's  universe,  it  is  not  my  ob- 
ject to  inquire.  The  inquiry  would  not  only  be  fruit- 
less, but  would  in  no  degree  alter  the  fact,  that  what  we 
call  evil  does  exist.  It  is  enough  for  us  to  know,  that, 
as  far  as  human  research  has  reached,  or  can  reach, 
the  more  profoundly  we  investigate  the  subject,  (he  more 
clearly  are  design,  wisdom  and  benevolence  discoverable 
Beyond  our  ken,  right  reason,  guided  by  humility,  would 
infer,  that,  where  we  cannot  trace  the  impress  of  these 
attributes,  it  is  not  because  they  are  not  discoverable, 
but  because  our  powers  are  not  equal  to  the  discovery. 
If  we  had  a  broader  vision,  and  were  more  fully  acquaint- 
ed with  the  relations  of  all  parts  of  God's  universe,  the 
one  to  the  other,  and  all  the  reasons  of  the  permanent 
ordinances  of  his  government,  we  should  be  able  to  un- 
derstand the  necessity  of  partial  evil  to  the  general  good  ; 
we  should  understand,  why  it  rains  on  the  waste  ocean, 
when  drought  consigns  whole  countries  to  aridity  and 
desolation  ;  in  a  word,  why  ignorance,  transgression, 
misery  and  death  have  a  place  in  our  system. 

All  that  we  now  know  is,  that  the  natural  laws  of  this 
system  are  universal,  invariable,  unbending;  that  physical 
and  moral  tendencies  are  the  same  all  over  our  world  ; 
and  we  have  every  reason  to  believe,  over  all  other  worlds. 
Wherever  moral  beings  keep  in  harmony  with  these  laws, 
there  is  no  instance,  in  which  happiness  is  not  the  result. 
Men  never  enjoy  health,  vigor,  and  felicity  in  disobedi- 


ence  to  them.  The  whole  infinite  contrivance  of  every- 
thing above,  around,  and  within  us,  appears  directed  to 
certain  benevolent  issues  ;  and  all  the  laws  of  nature  are 
in  perfect  harmony  with  the  whole  constitution  of  man. 

I  shall  not  enter  upon  the  subtle  controversies  of 
moral  philosophers,  as  to  the  fundamental  principle  of 
moral  obligation,  whether  it  be  expediency,  the  nature  of 
things,  or  the  will  of  God  ?  In  my  view  these  are  rather 
questions  about  words,  than  things.  The  nature  of 
things  is  a  part  of  the  will  of  God ;  and  expediency  is 
conformity  to  this  unchanging  order.  An  action  de- 
rives its  moral  complexion  from  being  conformed  to  the 
will  of  God,  and  the  nature  of  things ;  and  whatever  is 
so  conformed,  is  expedient ;  consequently  all  the  differ- 
ent foundations  of  morals,  when  examined,  are  found  to 
be  precisely  the  same. 

My  notions  of  morality  are,  that  it  is  conformity  to 
the  physical,  organic  and  moral  laws  of  the  universe.  , 
Some  will  choose  to  call  it  expediency ;  others,  the  will 
of  God ;  and  others  still,  the  constitution  of  things. 
These  views,  when  reduced  to  their  elements,  are  the 
same,  call  them  by  what  names  we  may.  We  may  ob- 
viously divide  these  laws  into  three  classes.  The  first 
series  we  call  physical  laws,  or  those  which  act  upon  the 
material  universe,  and  upon  ourselves  as  a  part  of  that  uni- 
verse. The  second  we  call  organic,  or  those  which  regu- 
late the  origin,  growth,  well-being  and  dissolution  of  organ- 
ized beings.  The  last,  denominated  moral,  act  chiefly 
on  the  intellectual  universe.  They  are  founded  on  our 
relations  to  the  sentient  universe  and  God. 

We  infer  from  analogy,  that  these  laws  alsvays  have 
been,  are,  and  always  will  be,  invariably  the  same ;  and 


13 


that  they  prevail  alike  in  every  portion  of  God's  universe. 
We  so  judge,  because  we  believe  the  existing  order  of 
things  to  be  the  wisest  and  the  best.  We  know  that 
the  physical  laws  actually  do  prevail  alike  in  every  part 
of  our  world,  and  as  far  beyond  it,  as  the  highest  helps 
of  astronomy  can  aid  our  researches  into  the  depths  of 
immensity.  Is  it  not  probable,  that  if  we  could  investi- 
gate the  system,  as  far  as  the  utmost  stretch  of  thought, 
we  should  find  no  point,  where  the  laws  of  gravity,  light, 
heat  and  motion  do  not  prevail ;  where  the  sentient  beings 
are  not  restricted  to  the  same  moral  relations,  as  in  our 
world  ?  Wherever  the  empire  of  science  has  extended, 
we  note  these  laws  equally  prevalent,  in  a  molecule  and 
a  world,  and  from  the  lowest  order  of  sentient  beings 
up  to  man.  The  arrangement  of  the  great  whole,  it 
should  seem,  must  be  a  single  emanation  from  the  same 
wisdom  and  will,  perfectly  uniform  throughout  the  whole 
empire.  What  an  impressive  motive  to  study  these  laws, 
and  conform  to  them,  is  it,  to  know,  that  they  are  as  irre- 
sistible, as  the  divine  power,  as  universal,  as  the  divine 
presence, as  permanent  as  the  divine  existence; — that 
there  is  no  evading  them,  that  no  art  can  disconnect  mis- 
ery from  transgressing  them,  that  no  change  of  place  or 
time,  that  not  death,  nor  any  transformation  which  our 
conscious  being  can  undergo,  will,  during  the  revolu- 
tions of  eternity,  dispense  any  more  with  the  necessity 
of  observing  these  laws,  than  during  our  present  transi- 
tory existence  in  clay  ! 

I  need  not  dwell  a  moment  upon  the  proofs  of  the 

absolute  identity  of  the  physical  laws.     No  one  need  be 

told,  that  a  ship  floats,  water  descends,  heat  warms,  and 

cold  freezes,  and  that  all  physical  properties  of  matter 

2 


14 

are  the  same  over  the  globe.  We  shall  only  show  by  a 
few  palpable  examples,  that  our  system  is  arranged  in 
conformity  to  the  organic  laws.  Every  discovery  in  the 
kingdom  of  animated  nature  developesnew  instances. 

In  the  tropical  regions,  the  muscular  energy  is  less,  in 
proportion  as  the  natural  fertility  of  the  soil  is  greater. 
In  colder  latitudes  muscular  energy  is  increased  ;  and 
ruder  elements,  and  a  more  sterile  nature,  proportion  their 
claims  accordingly.  In  arctic  regions  no  farinaceous  food 
ripens.  Sojourners  in  that  climate  find,  that  bread  and 
vegetable  diet  do  not  furnish  the  requisite  nutriment; 
that  pure  animal  food  is  the  only  sustenance  that  will 
there  maintain  the  tone  of  the  system,  imparting  a  de- 
lightful vigor  and  buoyancy  of  mind.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem,  to  conform  to  this  necessity,  these  dreary  coun- 
tries abound  in  infinite  numbers  and  varieties  of  animals, 
fowls  and  fishes.  The  climate  favors  the  drying  and 
preserving  of  animal  food,  which  is  thus  prepared  to  sus- 
tain the  inhabitants,  when  nature  imprisons  the  material 
creation  in  chains  of  ice,  and  wraps  herself  up  in  her 
mantle  of  snow.  Thus,  if  we  survey  the  whole  globe, 
the  food,  climate  and  other  circumstances  will  be  found 
accommodated  to  the  inhabitants ;  and  they,  as  far  as 
they  conform  to  the  organic  laws,  will  be  found  adapted 
to  their  climate  and  mode  of  subsistence. 

In  all  positions  man  finds  himself  called  upon,  by  the 
clear  indications  of  the  organic  laws,  to  take  that  free 
and  cheerful  exercise,  which  is  calculated  to  develope 
vigorous  muscular,  nervous  and  mental  action.  The  la- 
borer digs,  and  the  hunter  chases  for  subsistence ;  but 
finds  at  the  same  time  health  and  cheerfulness.  The 
penalty  of  the  violation  of  this  organic  law  by  the  indul- 


15 

gence  of  indolence  is  debility,  enfeebled  action,  both 
bodily  and  mental,  dyspepsia  with  all  its  horrid  train,  and 
finally  death.  On  the  other  hand,  the  penalty  of  over  ex- 
ertion, debauchery,  intemperance,  and  excess  of  every  spe- 
cies, comes  in  other  forms  of  disease  and  suffering.  These 
laws,  though  not  so  obviously  and  palpably  so,  are  as 
invariable  and  inevitable,  as  those  of  attraction,  or  mag- 
netism ;  and  yet  the  great  mass  of  our  species,  even  in 
what  we  call  enlightened  and  educated  countries,  do 
not  recognise,  and  obey  them  It  is  in  vain  for  them, 
that,  from  age  to  age,  the  same  consequences  have  en- 
sued, as  the  eternal  heralds  of  the  divinity,  proclaiming 
to  all  people,  in  all  languages,  that  his  laws  carry  their 
sanctions  with  them.  One  of  our  most  imperious  duties, 
then,  is  to  study  these  laws,  to  make  ourselves  conver- 
sant with  their  bearing  upon  our  pursuit  of  happiness,  that 
we  may  conform  to  them.  When  we  have  become  ac- 
quainted with  their  universality  and  resistless  power,  we 
shall  indulge  no  puerile  hope  that  we  may  enjoy  the  present 
gratification  of  infringing  them,  and  then  evade  the  ulti- 
mate consequences.  We  shall  as  soon  calculate  to 
change  condition  with  the  tenants  of  the  air  and  the 
waters,  as  expect  to  divert  any  one  of  them  from  its  on- 
ward course. 

He  then  is  wise,  who  looks  round  him  with  a  search- 
ing eye  to  become  fully  possessed,  without  the  coloring 
of  sophistical  wishes  and  self-deceiving  expectation,  of 
the  actual  conditions  of  his  being  ;  and  who,  instead  of 
imagining,  that  the  unchangeable  courses  of  nature  will 
conform  to  him,  his  ignorance,  interests  or  passions,  shapes 
his  course  so  as  to  conform  to  them.  He  will  no  more 
expect,  for  example,  that  he  can  indulge  his  appetites, 


16 


give  scope  to  his  passions,  and  yield  himself  to  the 
seductions  of  life,  and  escape  without  a  balance  of  mis- 
ery in  consequence,  than  he  would  calculate  to  throw 
himself  unhurt,  from  a  mountain  precipice. 

So  far  as  regards  himself,  he  will  study  the  organic 
laws,  in  reference  to  their  bearing  upon  his  mind,  his 
health,  his  morals,  his  happiness.  He  will  strive  to  be 
cheerful ;  for  he  knows  that  it  is  a'  part  of  the  constitu- 
tion of  things,  that  cheerfulness  tends  to  physical  and  men- 
tal health.  He  will  accustom  himself  to  exercise,  and  will 
avoid  indolence,  because  he  understands  that  he  was 
formed  to  be  an  active  being,  and  that  he  cannot  yield  to 
his  slothful  propensities,  without  forfeiting  the  delightful 
feeling  of  energy,  and  the  power  to  operate  upon  events, 
instead  of  being  passively  borne  along  by  them.  He  will  be 
active,  that  he  may  feel  conscious  power.  He  will  rise 
above  the  silent  and  invisible  influence  of  sloth,  and  will 
exult  in  a  feeling  of  force  and  self-comrnand,  for  the 
same  reasons  that  the  eagle  loves  to  soar  aloft,  and  look 
upon  the  sun  ;  because  a  sensation  of  power,  and 
a  sublime  liberty  are  enjoyed  in  the  flight.  He  will 
be  temperate  in  the  gratification  of  his  appetites  and 
passions,  because  he  is  aware,  that  every  excessive  indul- 
gence strikes  a  balance  of  suffering  against  him,  which 
he  must  discharge  soon,  or  late  ;  and  helps  to  forge 
a  chain  of  habit,  that  will  render  it  more  difficult  for 
him  to  resist  the  next  temptation  to  indulgence.  He 
will  rise  early  from  sleep,  because  nature  calls  him 
to  early  rising,  in  all  her  cheerful  voices,  in  the  matin 
song  of  birds,  the  balmy  morning  freshness  and  elasticity 
of  the  air,  and  the  renovated  cry  of  joy  from  the  whole 
animal  creation.  He  will  do  this,  because  he  has  early 


17 


heard  complaints  from  all  sides  of  the  shortness  of  life, 
and  because  he  is  sensible,  that  Jie  who  rises  every  day 
two  hours  before  the  common  period,  will  prolong  the 
ordinary  duration  of  life  by  adding  six  years  of  the 
pleasantest  part  of  existence.  He  will  rise  early,  be- 
cause next  after  the  intemperate,  no  human  being  offers 
a  more  unworthy  spectacle,  than  is  presented  by  the 
man,  who  calls  himself  rational  and  immortal,  who 
sees  before  him  a  greater  amount  of  knowledge,  duty 
and  happiness,  than  he  could  hope  to  compass  in  a 
thousand  years ;  and  who  yet  turns  himself  indolently 
from  side  to  side,  during  the  hours  of  the  awakening  of 
nature,  enjoying  only  the  luxury  of  a  savage  or  a  brute, 
in  a  state  of  dozing  existence  little  superior  to  the 
dreamless  sleep  of  the  grave.  I  test  the  character  of  a 
youth  of  whom  I  wish  to  entertain  hope,  by  this  crite- 
rion. If  he  can  nobly  resist  his  propensities,  if  he  can 
act  from  reason  against  his  inclinations,  if  he  can  trample 
indolence  underfoot,  if  he  can  always  make  the  effort  to 
show  the  intellectual  in  the  ascendant  over  the  animal 
being,  I  note  him  as  one,  who  will  be  worthy  of  emi- 
nence, whether  he  attain  it  or  not. 

In  a  word,  there  is  something  of  dignity  and  intellect- 
ual grandeur  in  the  aspect  of  the  young,  who  live  in  obe- 
dience to  the  organic  and  moral  laws,  which  commands 
at  once  that  undefined,  and  almost  unconscious  estima- 
tion and  respect,  which  all  minds  involuntarily  pay  to 
true  greatness.  Such  was  the  image  of  the  poet,  when 
he  delineated  the  angel  severe  in  youthful  beauty ;  and 
such  that  of  the  Mantuan,  when  he  compares  Neptune 
rebuking  and  hushing  the  winds,  to  a  venerable  man, 
2* 


18 

allaying  by  his  words  of  peace,  the  uproar  of  an  infu- 
riated populace. 

Were  I  to  enter  into  details  of  your  obligations  to  un- 
derstand and  obey  these  laws,  as  they  relate  to  the  va- 
rious periods,  pursuits  and  duties  of  life,  I  should  offer 
you  a  volume,  instead  of  an  outline,  which,  from  the  ex- 
amples given,  your  own  thoughts  can  easily  fill  out.  But 
that  I  may  not  leave  these  momentous  duties  wholly 
untouched,  I  shall  dwell  a  moment  on  their  bearing  upon 
a  most  important  epoch  of  life,  one  which,  perhaps  more 
than  any  other,  gives  the  color  to  future  years  either  of 
happiness  or  misery. 

When  the  young  reach  that  period,  when  nature  in- 
vokes them  to  assume  the  obligations  of  connubial  life, 
this  knowledge  and  conformity  will  cause  them  to 
pause,  and  reflect  on  what  is  before  them,  and  will  in- 
terdict them  from  following  the  inconsiderate  throng,  in 
entering  into  that  decisive  condition,  consulting  no  other 
lights,  than  a  morbid  fancy,  those  impulses  which  are 
common  to  all  other  animals,  or  sordid  calculations  of  in- 
terest. They  are  well  apprized,  that  the  declamations  of 
satire,  and  the  bitter  and  common  jest  of  all  civilized 
people,  upon  wedded  life,  have  but  too  much  foundation 
in  truth.  They  perceive  at  a  glance,  that  those  who 
with  such  views  take  on  them  the  obligations  of  the  con- 
jugal state  have  no  right  to  hope  anything  better  than 
satiety,  ill-humor,  monotonous  disgust,  and  the  insup- 
portable imprisonment  of  two  persons,  in  intimate  and 
indissoluble  partnership,  who  find  weariness  and  pen- 
ance in  being  together,  who  are  reminded,  at  once 
by  the  void  in  their  hearts,  and  their  mutual  inability 
to  fill  it,  that  they  must  not  only  endure  the  pain 


of  being  chained  together,  but  feel,  that  they  are  thus 
barred  from  a  happier  union,  partly  by  shame,  partly 
by  public  opinion,  and,  more  than  all,  by  the  obsta- 
cles, wisely  thrown  by  all  civilized  nations  in  the  way  of 
obtaining  divorce.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  that  the 
common  views  of  the  universal  unhappiness  of  the  wed- 
ded state  in  all  Christian  countries  are  the  result  of  gross 
exaggeration.  Making  all  allowances  for  errors  from 
this  source,  language  is  too  feeble,  to  delineate  the  count- 
less and  unutterable  miseries,  that,  in  all  time  since  the 
institution  of  marriage,  as  recognised  by  Christianity, 
have  resulted  from  these  incompatible  unions,  for  the  sim- 
ple reason,  that,  in  this  transaction,  of  so  much  more  mo- 
ment than  almost  any  other,  scarcely  one  of  the  parties 
in  a  thousand,  it  is  believed,  takes  the  least  note  of  it  in 
relation  to  the  organic  and  moral  laws.  The  young  and 
the  aged,  the  feeble  and  the  strong,  the  healthy  and  the 
diseased,  the  beautiful  and  the  deformed,  the  mild  and 
the  fierce,  the  intellectual  and  the  purely  animal,  the  rich 
and  the  poor,  bring  their  incompatibilities  to  a  common 
stock,  add  ruinous  excesses  of  temperament  together, 
unite  under  a  spell,  reckless  of  the  live-long  consequen- 
ces involved,  and  arouse  from  a  short  trance  to  the  con- 
scious and  sober  sadness  of  waking  misery.  To  them 
the  hackneyed  declamations  against  marriage  have  a 
terrible  import.  Weariness,  discontent,  ennui,  relieved 
only  by  the  fierceness  of  domestic  discord,  and  a  wretch- 
edness aggravated  by  the  consciousness  that  there  is  no 
escape  from  it,  but  by  death,  is  the  issue  of  a  union  con- 
summated under  illusive  expectations  of  more  than  mor- 
tal happiness.  How  many  millions  have  found  this  to 
be  the  reality  of  their  youthful  dreams  !  Yet  if  this  most 


20 


important  union  is  contracted  under  animal  impulses, 
without  any  regard  to  moral  and  intellectual  considera- 
tions, without  any  investigation  of  the  organic  and  social 
fitness  of  the  case,  without  inquiry  into  the  compatibility, 
without  a  mutual  understanding  of  temperament,  dispo- 
sitions, and  habits ;  who  cannot  foresee,  that  the  propen- 
sities will  soon  languish  in  satiety ;  that  repentance  and 
discord  and  digust  and  disaffection  and  loathing,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  remembered  raptures  forever  passed  away, 
will  rudely  open  the  eyes  of  the  parties  to  their  real  and 
permanent  condition,  and  that  by  a  law  as  certain  and 
inevitable,  as  that  which  propels  water  down  a  precipice  ! 
And  this  is  not  the  darkest  shade  in  the  picture.  By 
the  same  laws  children  are  born  with  the  doubled  excess 
of  the  temperaments  of  their  parents ;  or  puny,  unde- 
veloped and  feeble,  or  racked  by  all  the  fiercer  passions 
of  our  nature.  Opening  their  eyes  in  this  scene,  which 
the  guilty  thoughtlessness  of  successive  generations  has 
rendered  little  better  than  a  vast  lazar  house,  evil  ex- 
ample, gloom,  unregulated  tempers,  repining  and  mise- 
ry are  their  first  and  last  spectacles.  They  advance 
nto  life  to  r  epeat  the  errors  of  their  parents,  to  make 
common  stock  of  their  misery  anew,  to  multiply  the  num- 
ber of  the  unhappy,  or  perhaps  worse,  to  tenant  hospitals, 
and  the  receptacles  of  human  ignorance  and  misery. 

Can  any  question  be  imagined  in  life,  in  regard  to 
which  you  ought  so  deliberately  to  pause,  investigate  and 
weigh  all  the  bearings  of  the  case  ?  And  yet  can  any  other 
important  transaction  be  named,  upon  which,  in  this  view, 
so  little  thought  is  bestowed,  and  which  is  entered  into 
with  such  reckless  blindness  to  consequences  ?  He,  who 
determines  to  respect  the  laws  of  his  being,  will  study  his 


21 


own  temperament,  and  that  of  the  other  party,  and  weigh 
the  excesses  and  defects,  as  one  convinced  by  the  gen- 
eral analogy  of  animated  nature,  that  the  physical  and 
mental  character,  the  constitutional  and  moral  tempera- 
ment of  the  offspring,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things, 
will  be  a  compound  of  that  of  the  parents.  If  he  find 
himself  subject  to  any  peculiar  corporeal  infirmity,  he- 
reditary tendency  to  disease,  overbearing  propensities  to- 
wards indulgence,  or  excess,  unbalanced  passions,  or 
morbid  mental  obliquity,  he  wili  be  studiously  solicitous, 
that  the  other  party  shall  not  be  laboring  under  similar 
disqualifications.  I  may  not  follow  out  the  subordinate 
details.  Your  thoughts  cannot  but  suggest  innumerable 
considerations,  that  I  pass  in  silence.  Will  any  moral 
being,  capable  of  conscientious  views  of  the  ultimate  bear- 
ing of  his  actions,  dare  to  treat  this  subject,  all  mo- 
mentous as  it  is,  with  unphilosophic  levity  and  ridicule  ? 
Will  any  one  say,  that  such  discussions  ought  to  be  pre- 
termitted  by  a  parent?  I  affirm,  that  such  are  not  my 
notions  of  the  obligations  of  decorum  and  propriety. 
The  world  has  been  too  long  peopled  with  mere  animals 
bound  by  the  laws,  and  doomed  to  the  responsibilities  of 
rationality,  and  yet  acting  like  the  orders  below  them, 
without  a  capacity  for  finding  their  happiness.  If,  being 
men,  and  inheriting  either  the  privileges,  or  the  doom  of 
men,  we  will  choose  to  consider  ourselves  merely  as 
animals,  shall  we  dare  to  arraign  Providence,  or  fill  the 
world  with  murmurs,  if  we  enjoy  not  the  peculiar  plea- 
sures of  either  race,  and  are  subject  to  the  miseries  of 
both?  When  you  are  aware  that  such  considerations 
must  affect  not  only  your  own  happiness,  or  misery,  but 
that  of  your  offspring,  a  whole  coming  generation,  and 


22 


the  hopes  of  the  regeneration  and  improvement  of  a 
world,  you  will  be  sensible,  that  silence  in  such  a  dis- 
cussion would  be  guilty  pride.  I  perfectly  coincide  with 
the  conclusions  of  Combe  upon  this  subject,  and  tran- 
scribe for  your  benefit  an  admirable  exposition  of  my 
views  from  the  notes  appended  to  his  book  on  the  Con- 
ttitution  of  Man. 

1  It  is  a  very  common  error,  not  only  among  philoso- 
phers, but  among  practical  men,  to  imagine  thattheyee?- 
ings  of  the  mind  are  communicated  to  it  through  the 
medium  of  the  intellect;  and,  in  particular,  that  if  no 
indelicate  objects  reach  the  eyes,  or  expressions  pene- 
trate the  ears,  perfect  purity  will  necessarily  reign  with- 
in the  soul ;  and,  carrying  this  mistake  into  practice,  they 
are  prone  to  object  to  all  discussion  of  the  subjects  treat- 
ed of  under  the  '  Organic  Laws,'  in  works  designed  for 
general  use.  But  their  principle  of  reasoning  is  falla- 
cious, and  the  practical  result  has  been  highly  detrimen- 
tal to  society.  The  feelings  have  existence  and  activity 
distinct  from  the  intellect;  they  spur  it  on  to  obtain  their 
own  gratification  ;  and  it  may  become  either  their  slave 
or  guide,  according  as  it  is  enlightened  concerning  their 
constitution  and  objects,  and  the  laws  of  nature  to  which 
they  are  subjected.  The  most  profound  philosophers 
have  inculcated  this  doctrine;  and,  by  phrenological  ob- 
servation, it  is  demonstrably  established.  The  organs 
of  the  feelings  are  distinct  from  those  of  the  intellectual 
faculties  ;  they  are  larger  ;  and,  as  each  faculty,  cceteris 
paribus,  acts  with  a  power  proportionate  to  the  size  of 
its  organ,  the  feelings  are  obviously  the  active  or  impel- 
ling powers.  The  cerebellum,  or  organ  of  Amativeness, 
is  the  largest  of  the  whole  mental  organs ;  and,  being 


23 


endowed  with  natural  activity,  it  fills  the  mind  spontane- 
ously with  emotions  and  suggestions  which  may.  be  di- 
rected, controlled  and  resisted,  in  outward  manifestation, 
by  intellect  and  moral  sentiment,  but  which  cannot  be 
prevented  from  arising  nor  eradicated  after  they  exist. 
The  whole  question,  therefore,  resolves  itself  into  this, 
Whether  it  is  most  beneficial  to  enlighten  and  direct  that 
feeling,  or  (under  the  influence  of  an  error  in  philosophy, 
and  false  delicacy  founded  on  it),  to  permit  it  to  riot  in  all 
the  fierceness  of  a  blind  animal  instinct,  withdrawn  from 
the  eye  of  reason,  but  not  thereby  deprived  of  its  vehe- 
mence and  importunity.     The  former  course  appears  to 
me  to  be  the  only  one  consisten  twith  reason  and  moral- 
ity ;  and  I  have  adopted  it  in  reliance  on  the  good  sense 
of  my  readers,  that  they  will  at  once  discriminate  be- 
tween practical  instruction  concerning  this  feeling,  ad- 
dressed to  the  intellect,  and  lascivious  representations 
addressed  to  the  mere  propensity  itself;  with  the  latter 
of  which  the  enemies  of  all  improvement  may  attempt  to 
confound  my  observations.     Every  function  of  the  mind 
and  body  is  instituted  by  the  Creator ;  all  may  be  abused  ; 
and  it  is  impossible  regularly  to  avoid  abuse  of  them, 
except  by  being  instructed  in  their  nature,  objects,  and 
relations.     This  instruction  ought  to  be  addressed  ex- 
clusively to  the  intellect ;  and  when  it  is  so,  it  is  science 
of  the  most  beneficial  description.     The  propriety,  nay, 
necessity,  of  acting  on  this  principle,  becomes  more  and 
more  apparent,  when  it  is  considered  that  the  discussions 
of  the  text  suggest  only  intellectual  ideas  to  individuals 
in  whom  the  feeling  in  question  is  naturally  weak,  and 
that  such  minds  perceive  no  indelicacy  in  knowledge 
which  is  calculated  to  be  useful ;  while,  on  the  other 


24 


hand,  persons  in  whom  the  feeling  is  naturally  strong, 
are  precisely  those  who  stand  in  need  of  direction,  and 
to  whom,  of  all  others,  instruction  is  the  most  necessary.' 
No  art  in  these  days  is  better  understood,  by  those 
who  have  found  their  interest  in  investigating  the  sub- 
ject, than  that  of  improving  the  races  of  the  lower  ani- 
mals. Every  species,  upon  which  the  effort  has  been 
made,  has  been  found  perfectly  subservient  to  the  art. 
The  desirable  forms  and  qualities  are  selected,  and  the 
proper  means  of  improvement  applied.  The  wished 
result  is  not  obtained  to  its  full  extent  in  the  first  genera- 
tion ;  but  a  uniform  approximation  commences ;  and 
every  successive  amelioration  brings  the  animal  nearer 
to  the  requisite  standard.  The  whole  art  is  founded  on 
observation  of  the  organic  laws  of  the  races,  and  the 
general  fact,  that  the  instincts,  qualities,  temperament, 
form  and  color  of  the  animals  are  hereditary,  and  trans- 
missible. These  are  truths  so  well  known,  that  the  gra- 
zier, and  the  shepherd  apply  them  constantly  in  rearing 
their  domestic  animals.  Shall  they  be  disregarded, 
when  it  becomes  known,  that  they  bear  equally  upon  the 
improvement  of  man,  next  in  dignity  to  angelst  Shall 
these  considerations  rear  a  nobler  race  of  animals,  and. 
by  overlooking  them,  shall  man  alone  be  consigned  to 
degradation  ? 


25 


LETTER     III. 

TBE     SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED. 

I  PROCEED  to  examples  and  developments  of  the  doc- 
trine, chiefly  insisted  upon  in  the  former  letter.  I  draw 
them  chiefly  from  Mr  Combe,  premising,  that  they  ex- 
actly coincide  with  views  which  you  cannot  but  remem- 
ber to  have  heard  me  advance,  before  I  had  read  his 
book  on  the  constitution  of  man.  It  is  a  law  of  the  animal 
creation,  that  not  only  the  natural  but  even  the  acquired 
qualities  are  transmitted  by  parents  to  their  offspring ; 
and  man,  as  an  organized  being,  is  subject  to  laws  similar 
to  those  which  govern  the  organization  of  the  lower  an- 
imals. '  Children,'  says  Dr  Pritchard,  '  resemble  in 
feature  and  constitution  both  parents ;  but  I  think  more 
generally  the  father.'  Changes  produced  by  external 
causes  in  the  constitution  and  appearance  of  the  individ- 
ual are  temporary ;  and,  in  general,  acquired  char- 
acters are  transient,  terminating  with  the  individual,  and 
having  no  influence  on  the  progeny.  The  mental  devel- 
opment of  the  Circassian  race  is  known  to  be  of  the 
highest  order.  The  nobles  of  Persia  are  children  of 
Circassian  mothers,  and  they  are  remarkable,  in  that 
country,  for  their  mental  and  corporeal  superiority  over 
the  other  classes.  Every  one  acquainted  with  the 
condition  of  our  southern  slaves,  well  understands  the 
obvious  fact,  that  the  mulattocs  are  much  superior,  in 
quickness  and  capability  of  acquiring  and  retaining  know- 
ledge, to  the  negroes.  The  Indian  half-breeds  are  re- 
markable for  the  immediate  ascendency,  which  they  ac- 
3 


26 


quire  in  their  tribes  over  the  full-blooded  Indians.  In 
oriental  India,  the  intermarriages  of  the  Hindoos  with 
Europeans  have  produced  an  intermediate  race  much 
superior  to  the  natives,  and  destined,  it  is  already  predict- 
ed, to  be  the  future  sovereigns  of  India.  In  fact,  physi- 
ology has  deduced  no  conclusion  more  certain,  than 
that,  in  ordinary  cases,  the  temperament  and  intellect  of 
the  children  are  a  compound  of  that  of  their  parents. 
Of  this  I  might  produce  innumerable  instances  from  his- 
tory of  the  Alexanders,  Caesars,  and  Antonines,  the  dis- 
tinguished great  and  wise,  of  ancient  and  modern  times  ; 
and  equally,  in  the  opposite  direction,  in  the  Neros'and 
Caligulas,  the  depraved  and  abandoned  of  all  ages  and 
countries,  where  observation  has  been  able  to  trace  their 
parentage. 

One  of  the  most  fertile  sources  of  human  misery,  then, 
arises  from  persons  uniting  in  marriage,  whose  tempers, 
talents  and  dispositions  do  not  harmonize.  If  it  be  true 
that  natural  talents  and  dispositions  are  connected  by  the 
Creator  with  particular  constitutions  of  the  parents,  it  is 
obviously  one  of  his  institutions,  that  these  constitutions 
should  be  most  seriously  taken  into  the  calculation  in  form- 
ing a  compact  for  life.  The  Creator,  having  formed  such 
ordinances  in  the  unchangeable  arrangements  of  nature, 
as  to  confer  happiness,  when  they  are  discovered  and  ob- 
served, and  misery,  when  they  are  unknown  or  unob- 
served, it  is  obviously  our  best  wisdom  to  investigate  and 
respect  them.  If  individuals,  after  this  truth  reaches 
their  conviction  should  go  on,  in  imitation  of  the  common 
example,  to  form  reckless  connexions,  which  can  only 
eventuate  in  sorrow,  it  is  obvious  that  they  must  do  so 
either  from  contempt  of  the  effects  of  this  influence  upon 


27 


the  happiness  of  domestic  life,  and  a  secret  belief,  that 
they  may  in  some  way  evade  its  consequences,  or  from 
the  predominance  of  avarice,  or  some  other  animal  feel- 
ing, precluding  them  from  yielding  obedience  to  what 
they  see  to  be  an  institution  of  the  Creator. 

At  the  first  aspect  of  this  subject  three  alternatives  are 
presented,  one  of  which,  it  should  seem,  must  have  a 
determining  power  upon  the  offspring.  Either,  in  the 
first  place,  the  corporeal  and  mental  constitution,  which 
the  parents  themselves  inherit  at  birth,  are  transmitted 
so  absolutely,  as  that  the  children  are  exact  copies 
of  the  parents,  without  variation  or  modification,  sex 
following  sex  ;  or,  in  the  second  place,  the  inherent  qual- 
ities of  the  father  and  mother  combine,  and  are  transmit- 
ted in  a  modified  'form  to  the  offspring  ;  or,  thirdly,  the 
qualities  of  the  children  are  determined  jointly  by  the 
constitution  of  the  parents,  and  the  faculties  and  temper- 
aments, which  predominated  in  power  and  energy  at 
the  particular  period,  when  the  organic  existence  of  the 
child  commenced. 

If  these  views  are  correct,  and  if  a  man  and  woman 
about  to  marry,  have  not  only  their  own  domestic  happi 
ness  but  that  of  five  or  more  human  beings  depending 
on  their  attention  to  considerations  essentially  the  same 
as  the  foregoing,  how  differently  ought  this  contract  to 
be  viewed  from  the  common  aspect,  which  it  presents  to 
persons  assuming  its  solemn  stipulations !  Yet  it  is  aston- 
ishing, to  what  extent  pecuniary  and  other  minor  con- 
siderations will  induce  men  to  investigate  and  observe 
the  natural  laws  ;  and  how  small  an  influence  moral  and 
rational  considerations  exert  upon  this  most  important  of 
all  earthly  connexions. 


28 


I  cannot  forbear,  under  this  head,  quoting  entire  an- 
other passage  from  the  author,  from  whom  I  have  substan- 
tially drawn  many  of  the  foregoing  observations. 

*  Rules,  however,  are  best  taught  by  examples  ;  and 
I  shall,  therefore,  proceed  to  mention  some  facts  that 
have  fallen  under  my  own  notice,  or  been  communicated 
to  me  from  authentic  sources,  illustrative  of  the  practical 
consequences  of  infringing  the  law  of  hereditary  de- 
scent. 

'  A  man,  aged  about  fifty,  possessed  a  brain,  in  which 
the  animal,  moral,  and  knowing  intellectual  organs  were 
all  strong,  but  the  reflecting  weak.  He  was  pious,  but 
destitute  of  education;  he  married  an  unhealthy  young 
woman,  deficient  in  moral  development,  but  of  consid- 
erable force  of  character ;  and  several  children  were 
born.  The  father  and  mother  were  far  from  being  hap- 
py ;  and,  when  the  children  attained  to  eighteen  or  twen- 
ty years  of  age,  they  were  adepts  in  every  species  of 
immorality  and  profligacy ;  they  picked  their  father's 
pockets,  stole  his  goods,  and  got  them  sold  back  to  him, 
by  accomplices,  for  money,  which  was  spent  in  betting 
and  cock-fighting,  drinking,  and  low  debauchery.  The 
father  was  heavily  grieved ;  but  knowing  only  two  re- 
sources, he  beat  the  children  severely  as  long  as  he  was 
able,  and  prayed  for  them  ;  his  words  were,  that  "  if,  af- 
ter that,  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  make  vessels  of  wrath  of 
them,  the  Lord's  will  must  just  be  done."  1  mention  this 
last  observation,  not  in  jest,  but  in  great  seriousness.  It 
was  impossible  not  to  pity  the  unhappy  father ;  yet  who 
that  sees  the  institutions  of  the  Creator  to  be  in  them- 
selves wise,  but  in  this  instance  to  have  been  directly 
violated,  will  not  acknowledge  that  the  bitter  pangs  of  the 


29 

poor  old  man  were  the  consequences  of  his  own  ignorance ; 
and  that  it  was  an  erroneous  view  of  the  divine  adminis- 
tration, which  led  him  to  overlook  his  own  mistakes,  and 
to  attribute  to  the  Almighty  the  purpose  of  making  ves- 
sels of  wrath  of  his  children,  as  the  only  explanation 
which  he  could  give  of  their  wicked  dispositions.  Who 
that  sees  the  cause  of  his  misery  must  not  lament  that  his 
piety  should  not  have  heen  enlightened  by  philosophy, 
and  directed  to  obedience,  in  the  first  instance,  to  the  or- 
ganic institutions  of  the  Creator,  as  one  of  the  prescrib- , 
ed  conditions,  without  observance  of  which  he  had  no 
title  to  expect  a  blessing  upon  his  offspring. 

'  In  another  instance,  a  man,  in  whom  the  animal  organs, 
particularly  those  of  Cornbativeness  and  Destructiveness, 
were  very  large,  but  with  a  pretty  fair  moral  and  intel- 
lectual development,  married,  against  her  inclination,  a 
young  woman,  fashionably  and  showily  educated,  but 
with  a  very  decided  deficiency  in  Conscientiousness. 
They  soon  became  unhappy,  and  even  blows  were  said 
to  have  passed  between  them,  although  they  belonged  to 
the  middle  rank  of  life.  The  mother,  in  this  case,  em- 
ployed the  children  to  deceive  and  plunder  the  father, 
and,  latterly,  spent  the  produce  in  drink.  The  sons  in- 
herited the  deficient  morality  of  the  mother,  and  the  ill 
temper  of  the  father.  The  family  fireside  became  a 
theatre  of  war,  and,  before  the  sons  attained  a  majority, 
the  father  was  glad  to  get  them  removed  from  his  house, 
as  the  only  means  by  which  he  could  feel  even  his  life 
in  safety  from  their  violence ;  for  they  had  by  that  time 
retaliated  the  blows  with  which  he  had  visited  them  in 
their  younger  years ;  and  he  stated  that  he  actually  con- 
sidered his  life  to  be  in  danger  from  his  own  offspring. 
3* 


30 


'  In  another  family,  the  mother  possesses  an  excellent 
development  of  the  moral  and  intellectual  organs,  while, 
in  the  father,  the  animal  organs  predominate  in  great 
excess.  She  has  been  the  unhappy  victim  of  ceaseless 
misfortune,  originating  from  the  misconduct  of  her  hus- 
band. Some  of  the  children  have  inherited  the  father's 
brain,  and  some  the  mother's ;  and  of  the  sons  whose 
heads  resembled  the  father's,  several  have  died  through 
mere  debauchery  and  profligacy  under  thirty  years  of 
age ;  whereas,  those  who  resemble  the  mother  are  alive 
and  little  contaminated,  even  amidst  all  the  disadvanta- 
ges of  evil  example. 

'  On  the  other  hand,  1  am  not  acquainted  with  a  single 
instance  in  which  the  moral  and  intellectual  organs 
predominated  in  size,  in  both  father  and  mother,  and 
whose  external  circumstances  also  permitted  their  gen- 
eral activity,  in  which  the  whole  children  did  not  partake 
of  a  moral  and  intellectual  character,  differing  slightly 
in  degrees  of  excellence  one  from  another,  but  all  pre- 
senting the  decided  predominance  of  the  human  over 
the  animal  faculties. 

'  There  are  well-known  examples  of  the  children  of 
religious  and  moral  fathers  exhibiting  dispositions  of  a 
very  inferior  description  ;  but  in  all  of  these  instances 
that  I  have  been  able  to  observe,  there  has  been  a  large 
development  of  the  animal  organs  in  the  one  parent, 
which  was  just  controlled,  but  not  much  more,  by  the 
moral  and  intellectual  powers ;  and  in  the  other  parent, 
the  moral  organs  did  not  appear  to  be  in  large  propor- 
tion. The  unfortunate  child  inherited  the  large  animal 
development  of  the  one,  with  the  defective  moral  devel- 
opment of  the  other ;  and,  in  this  way,  was  inferior 


31 


to  both.  The  way  to  satisfy  one's  self  on  this  point, 
is  to  examine  the  heads  of  the  parents.  In  all  such  cases, 
a  large  base  of  the  brain,  which  is  the  region  of  the 
animal  propensities,  will  very  probably  be  found  in  one 
or  other  of  them. 

'  Another  organic  law  of  the  animal  kingdom  deserves 
attention ;  viz.  that  by  which  marriages  betwixt  blood 
relations  tend  decidedly  to  the  deterioration  of  the  phy- 
sical and  mental  qualities  of  the  offspring.  In  Spain,  kings 
marry  their  nieces,  and,  in  this  country,  first  and  second 
cousins  marry  without  scruple ;  although  every  philo- 
sophical physiologist  will  declare  that  this  is  in  direct 
opposition  to  the  institutions  of  nature.  This  law  holds 
also  in  the  vegetable  kingdom.  "  A  provision,  of  a  very 
simple  kind,  is,  in  some  cases,  made  to  prevent  the  male 
and  female  blossoms  of  the  same  plant  from  breeding 
together,  this  being  found  to  hurt  the  breed  of  vegeta- 
bles, just  as  breeding  in  and  in  does  the  breed  of  ani- 
mals. It  is  contrived,  that  the  dust  shall  be  shed  by  the 
male  blossom  before  the  female  is  ready  to  be  affected 
by  it,  so  that  the  impregnation  must  be  performed  by 
the  dust  of  some  other  plant,  and  in  this  way  the  breed 
be  crossed."  ! 

Such  considerations,  I  hope,  will  induce  you  to  exer- 
cise cautious  examination  of  this  subject,  if  either  of  you 
should  ever  be  placed  in  circumstances  to  contemplate 
assuming  the  duties  of  the  wedded  life.  If  you  do  not, 
you  will  have  cast  the  pursuit  of  happiness  upon  the  di« 
of  chance  at  the  very  outset  of  your  career.  Allow  me, 
before  I  dismiss  the  book,  from  which  I  have  already  so 
liberally  quoted,  to  extract  one  passage  more,  touching 
the  application  of  the  natural  laws  to  the  practical  ar- 
rangements of  life. 


32 


'  If  a  system  of  living  and  occupation  were  to  be 
framed  for  human  beings,  founded  on  the  exposition  of 
their  nature,  which  I  have  now  given,  it  would  be  some- 
thing like  this. 

'  1st.  So  many  hours  a  day  would  require  to  be  dedi- 
cated by  every  individual  in  health,  to  the  exercise  of 
his  nervous  and  muscular  systems,  in  labor  calculated  to 
give  scope  to  these  functions.  The  reward  of  obeying 
this  requisite  of  his  nature  would  be  health,  and  a  joyous 
animal  existence ;  the  punishment  of  neglect  is  disease, 
low  spirits  and  death. 

'  2dly.  So  many  hours  a  day  should  be  spent  in  the 
sedulous  employment  of  the  knowing  and  reflecting  fac- 
ulties; in  studying  the  qualities  of  external  objects,  and 
their  relations ;  also  the  nature  of  all  animated  beings, 
and  their  relations;  not  with  the  view  of  accumulating 
mere  abstract  and  barren  knowledge,  but  of  enjoying  the 
positive  pleasure  of  mental  activity,  and  of  turning  every 
discovery  to  account,  as  a  means  of  increasing  happi- 
ness, or  alleviating  misery.  The  leading  object  should 
always  be  to  find  out  the  relationship  of  every  object  to 
our  own  nature,  organic,  animal,  moral,  and  intellectual, 
and  to  keep  that  relationship  habitually  in  mind,  so  as  to 
render  our  acquirements  directly  gratifying  to  our  vari- 
ous faculties.  The  reward  of  this  conduct  would  be  an 
incalculably  great  increase  of  pleasure,  in  the  very  act 
of  acquiring  knowledge  of  the  real  properties  of  external 
objects,  together  with  a  great  accession  of  power  in 
reaping  ulterior  advantages,  and  in  avoiding  disagreea- 
ble affections. 

'  3dly.  So  many  hours  a  day  ought  to  be  devoted  to  the 
cultivation  and  gratification  of  our  moral  sentiments ; 


33 


that  is  to  say,  in  exercising  these  in  harmony  with  intel- 
lect, and  especially  in  acquiring  the  habit  of  admiring, 
loving,  and  yielding  obedience  to  the  Creator  and  his 
institutions.  This  last  object  is  of  vast  importance.  In- 
tellect is  barren  of  practical  fruit,  however  rich  it  may  be 
in  knowledge,  until  it  is  fired  and  prompted  to  act  by  mor- 
al sentiment.  In  my  view,  knowledge  by  itself  is  com- 
paratively worthless  and  impotent,  compared  with  what 
it  becomes  when  vivified  by  elevated  emotions.  It  is 
not  enough  that  intellect  is  informed  ;  the  moral  faculties 
must  simultaneously  cooperate  ;  yielding  obedience  to 
the  precepts  which  the  intellect  recognises  to  be  true. 
One  way  of  cultivating  the  sentiments  would  be  for  men 
to  meet  and  act  together,  on  the  fixed  principles  which 
I  am  now  endeavoring  to  unfold,  and  to  exercise  on  each 
other  in  mutual  instruction,  and  in  united  adoration  of 
the  gresat  and  glorious  Creator,  the  several  faculties  of 
Benevolence,  Veneration,  Hope,  Ideality,  Wonder,  and 
Justice.  The  reward  of  acting  in  this  manner  would  be 
a  communication  of  direct  and  intense  pleasure  to  each 
other ;  for  I  refer  to  every  individual  who  has  ever  had 
the  good  fortune  to  pass  a  day  or  an  hour  with  a  really 
benevolent,  pious,  honest,  and  intellectual  man,  whose 
soul  swelled  with  adoration  of  his  Creator,  whose  intel- 
lect was  replenished  with  knowledge  of  his  works,  and 
whose  whole  mind  was  instinct  with  sympathy  for  human 
happiness,  whether  such  a  day  did  not  afford  him  the 
most  pure,  elevated,  and  lasting  gratification  he  ever  en- 
joyed. Such  an  exercise,  besides,  would  invigorate  the 
whole  moral  and  intellectual  powers,  and  fit  them  to  dis- 
cover and  obey  the  divine  institutions.' 


34 


You  will  study,  and  obey  the  moral  laws  of  the  uni- 
verse, of  which  you  are  a  part,  because  you  are  moral 
beings,  and  because  obedience  to  these  laws  constitutes 
the  tie  of  affinity  between  you,  the  higher  orders  of 
being  and  the  divinity.  You  will  respect  them,  because 
it  is  the  glory  of  your  nature,  that  you  alone,  of  all  crea- 
tures below,  are  morally  subject  to  them.  Laying  out 
of  the  question  their  momentous  sanctions  in  the  eternal 
future,  you  must  be  aware,  that  the  Creator  has  annex- 
ed pleasure  to  obeying  them,  and  pain  to  their  violation 
as  inevitably,  as  gravity  belongs  to  matter.  One  would 
think,  it  must  be  enough  to  determine  the  conduct  of  a 
being,  who  laid  claim  to  the  character  of  rational,  to 
know,  that  no  art  nor  dexterity,  that  no  repentance  nor 
return  to  obedience,  can  avert  the  consequences  of  a 
single  violation  of  these  laws ;  and  that  no  imaginable 
present  good  can  counterbalance  the  future  misery,  that 
must  accrue  in  consequence. 

In  regard,  for  example,  to  the  practice  of  the  most 
common  and  every  day  duties,  who  can  doubt  the  truth 
of  the  trite  adage,  honesty  is  the  best  policy  ?  This  is,  in 
effect,  no  more  than  saying,  that  the  moral  laws  of  the 
universe  are  constituted  upon  such  principles,  as  to  make 
it  every  man's  interest  to  obey  them.  It  is  as  certain, 
that  they  are  so  constituted,  as  that  fire  will  burn,  or 
water  drown  you ;  and  when  you  understand  this  con- 
stitution, it  marks  the  same  want  of  a  sane  mind  to  vio- 
late them,  as  to  be  unable  to  keep  out  of  these  elements. 
Yet  the  greater  portion  of  the  species  do  not  constantly 
act  upon  a  full  belief  in  this  hackneyed  maxim.  They 
think  apparently,  that  they  can  in  some  way  obtain  the 
imagined  advantage  of  dishonesty  and  evade  the  connect- 


35 


ed  evil,  not  aware,  that  detection  and  diminished  confi- 
dence may  be  avoided,  for  once  or  twice  ;  but  not  the 
Joss  of  self-respect,  the  pureness  and  integrity  of  internal 
principle,  the  certainty  of  forging  the  first  link  in  a  chain 
of  bad  habits,  and  a  thousand  painful  consequences, 
which  it  would  be  easy  to  enumerate  in  detail.  Almost 
every  one  deems  that  he  may  safely  put  forth  every  day 
false  compliment,  double-dealing,  deception  on  a  small 
scale,  and  little  frauds,  not  cognisable  by  any  law  or 
code  of  honor.  In  a  word,  if  actions  are  a  test  of  the 
sincerity  of  conviction,  very  few  really  are  convinced 
that  honesty  is  the  best  policy. 

We  hold  the  man  insane  who  should  leap  from  a  high 
building  upon  the  pavement,  or  attempt  to  grapple  with 
the  blind  power  of  the  elements.  But  it  is  scarcely  the 
subject  of  our  remark,  that  the  multitude  about  us,  in 
the  most  important,  as  well  as  the  minute  concerns  of 
life,  live  in  habitual  recklessness  or  violation  of  the 
organic  and  moral  laws ;  and  yet  we  certainly  know,  that 
whoever  infringes  them  is  as  sure  to  pay  the  penalty,  as 
he  who  madly  places  himself  in  opposition  to  the  material 
laws.  I  can  never  present  this  astonishing  and  universal 
blindness  in  too  many  forms  of  repetition,  if  the  effect  is 
to  bring  you  to  view  these  two  species  of  folly  in  the 
same  light. 

The  reason  clearly  is,  that  in  too  many  instances,  men 
take  no  pains  to  acquaint  themselves  with  these  laws, 
and  their  bearing  upon  the  constitution  of  man  ;  or,  de- 
ceived by  the  clamors  of  the  inclinations,  and  the  illusions 
of  present  pleasure  and  advantage,  when  balanced  with 
future  and  remote  penalties,  they  commit  the  infractions, 
and  hope,  that  between  the  certain  pleasure  and  the  dis- 


36 


tant  and  contingent  pain,  they  can  interpose  some  evasion, 
and  sever  the  consequences  from  the  fault.  The  ex- 
pectation always  ends,  like  the  alchymist's  dream,  and 
the  projector's  perpetual  motion.  Even  in  the  appre- 
hension of  the  consequences,  the  mind  is  paying  the 
penalty  of  an  unquiet  conscience,  and  of  an  abatement 
of  self-confidence,  and  self-respect,  penalties,  which 
very  few  earthly  pleasures  can  compensate. 

When  I  speak  of  these  unchangeable  laws,  as  ema- 
nations from  the  divine  wisdom  and  goodness,  as  trans- 
cripts of  the  divine  immutability,  and  as  being  the  best 
of  all  possible  arrangements,  not  to  be  superseded,  or 
turned  from  their  course  by  the  wisest  of  beings,  you 
will  not  understand  me  to  bear  upon  the  consoling  and 
scriptural  doctrine  of  providence.  I  firmly  believe,  and 
trust  in  it ;  not,  however,  in  the  popular  view.  It  would 
not  increase  my  veneration  for  the  Almighty,  to  suppose 
that  his  laws  required  exceptions  and  variations,  to  meet 
particular  cases ;  nor  that  they  would  call  for  frequent 
suspensions  and  changes,  to  provide  for  contingencies 
not  foreseen  at  the  commencement  of  the  mighty  move- 
ments. Such  are  not  the  grounds  of  my  trust  in  the 
wisdom  and  goodness  of  the  Supreme  Being.  I  neither 
desire,  nor  expect  any  deviation  of  laws,  as  wise  and 
good  as  they  can  be,  in  their  general  operation,  lo  meet 
my  particular  wishes,  or  those  of  the  friends  most  dear 
to  me.  I  expect,  that  none  of  the  powers  of  nature 
will  clnnge  for  me ;  I  encourage  no  insane  hopes,  that 
things  will  forego  their  tendencies  to  meet  my  conve- 
niences or  pleasures.  Prayer  is  a  duty  equally  comfort- 
ing and  elevating  ;  but  rny  prayers  are  not,  that  these 
fixed  laws  of  the  divine  wisdom  may  change  for  rne ; 


37 

but  that  I  may  understand  and  conform  to  them.  The 
providence,  in  which  I  believe,  supposes  no  exceptions, 
infringements,  or  violations  of  the  universal  plan  of  the 
divine  government.  Miracles  only  seem  such  to  us, 
because  we  see  but  a  link  or  two  in  the  endless  chain  of 
that  plan.  An  ingenious  mechanician  constructs  a 
clock,  which  will  run  many  years,  and  only  once  in  the 
whole  period  strike  an  alarm  bell.  It  is  a  miracle  to 
those  who  comprehend  not,  that  it  was  part  of  the  orig- 
inal plan  of  the  mechanician.  May  we  not  with  more 
probability  adopt  the  same  reasoning,  in  relation  to  the 
recorded  miracles,  as  parts  of  the  original  plan  of  the 
Eternal  ? 

Piety,  established  upon  a  knowledge  of  these  laws, 
and  a  respect  for  them,  and  associated  with  veneration 
for  their  author,  is  rational,  consistent,  firm  and  manly. 
It  seeks,  it  expects  nothing  in  the  puerile  presumption, 
that  the  ordinances  of  a  code,  fitted  for  the  whole  system 
of  the  Creator,  will  be  wrested  to  the  wants  of  an 
insect.  In  docility  and  meekness  it  labors  for  conformity 
to  those  ordinances  ;  in  other  words,  to  the  divine  will. 
It  violates  no  principle,  and  calls  for  the  exercise  of  no 
faith,  that  is  repugnant  to  the  dictates  of  common  sense, 
and  the  teaching  of  common  observation.  Piety, 
founded  on  such  views,  abides  the  scrutiny  of  the 
severest  investigation.  No  vacillation  of  the  mind  from 
varying  fortunes,  no  questionings  of  unbelief,  doubt  and 
despair,  can  shake  it.  It  rests  firmly  on  the  basis  of 
the  divine  attributes.  It  holds  fast  to  the  golden  chain, 
the  last  link  of  which  is  riveted  to  the  throne  of  the 
Eternal. 

Thus  it  seems  to  me  indispensable,  as  a  prerequisite 
4 


38 


to  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  that  the  inquirer  should  hold 
large  discourse  with  the  physical,  organic  and  moral 
laws ;  that  he  should  carefully  investigate  their  whole 
bearing  upon  his  constitution ;  that  he  should  trace  all 
their  influences  on  him  from  the  first  hour,  in  which  he 
opens  his  eyes  on  the  light,  to  his  departure  out  of  life. 
I  insist  the  more  earnestly  upon  this,  because  in  these 
days  the  study  of  the  moral  relations  of  things  seems  to 
me  comparatively  abandoned.  The  exact  and  natural 
sciences  are  studied,  rather,  it  would  seem,  as  an  end, 
than  a  means.  Natural  philosophy,  mathematics  and 
astronomy  may  be  highly  useful ;  but  who  will  compare 
these  sciences,  in  regard  to  their  utility  and  importance, 
with  those,  which  guide  the  mind  to  their  author,  which 
teach  the  knowledge  of  his  moral  laws,  which  instruct 
us  how  to  allay  the  passions,  to  moderate  our  expecta- 
tions, and  to  establish  morality  on  the  basis  of  our  regard 
to  our  own  happiness? 

If,  then,  you  would  give  yourself  to  the  patient  study 
of  the  natural  sciences,  that  you  may  gain  reputation 
and  the  ability  to  be  useful,  much  more  earnestly  will 
you  study  regimen,  exercise,  temperance,  moderation, 
cheerfulness,  the  benefits  of  a  balanced  mind,  and  of  a 
wise  and  philosophic  conformity  to  an  order  of  things, 
not  a  tittle  of  which  you  can  change,  that  you  may  be 
resigned,  useful  and  happy.  All  knowledge,  which  can- 
not be  turned  to  this  account,  either  as  relates  to  your- 
selves, or  others,  is  useless. 

Innumerable  counsels,  in  relation  to  your  habits,  your 
pleasures  and  pursuits,  your  studies,  your  tastes  and 
modes  of  conduct,  your  beau  ideal  of  natural  and  moral 
beauty,  your  standard  of  dignity  and  worth  of  character, 


39 


press  upon  my  mind,  and  all  in  some  way  connected 
with  the  views,  which  I  have  just  taken.  But  I  shall 
be  able  to  present  such  of  them  as  I  may  deem  worthy 
to  find  a  place  in  these  letters,  perhaps  with  most  pro- 
priety and  effect,  as  suggested  in  the  form  of  notes* 
appended  to  the  chapters  of  the  essay  of  M.  Droz,  a 
paraphrase  of  which  I  now  offer  you. 


LETTER    IV. 

GENERAL    VIEWS    OP    THE    SUBJECT. 

MAN  is  created  to  be  happy.1  His  desires  and  the 
wisdom  of  the  Creator  concur  to  prove  the  assertion. 
Yet  the  earth  resounds  with  the  complaints  of  the  un- 
happy, although  they  are  encompassed  with  the  means 
of  enjoyment,  of  which  they  appear  to  know  neither 
the  value  nor  the  use.  They  resemble  the  shipwrecked 
mariner,  on  a  desert  isle,  surrounded  with  fruits,  of  the 
flavors  and  properties  of  which  he  is  ignorant,  as  he  is 
doubtful  whether  they  offer  aliment  or  poison. 

I  was  early  impelled  to  investigate  the  character  and 
motives  of  the  crowd  around  me,  eagerly  rushing  for- 
ward in  pursuit  of  happiness.  I  soon  rioted  multitudes 
relinquishing  the  chase  in  indolent  despondency.  They 
affirmed  to  me  that  they  no  longer  believed  in  the  exist- 
ence of  happiness.  I  felt  an  insatiate  craving,  and 

*  These  Notes  will  be  found  at  the  end  of  the  volume.  The 
small  numerals,  in  the  text,  refer  to  them. 


40 


saw  life  through  the  illusive  coloring  of  youth.  Unwil- 
ling to  resign  my  hopes,  1  inquired  of  others,  who  seemed 
possessed  of  greater  strength  of  mind,  and  more  weight 
of  character,  if  they  could  guide  me  to  the  place  of 
happiness  ?  Some  answered  with  an  ill-concealed  smile 
of  derision,  and  others  with  bitterness.  They  declared 
that  in  their  view  the  pleasures  of  life  were  more  than 
counterbalanced  by  its  pains.  Because  they  were  dis- 
appointed and  discouraged,  they  deemed  that  their 
superior  wisdom  had  enabled  them  to  strip  off  the  dis- 
guises of  life,  and  contemplate  it  with  sullen  resignation. 

I  remarked  others  in  high  places,  whose  restless 
activity  and  brilliance  dazzled  the  multitude  and  inspired 
envy.  I  eagerly  asked  of  them  the  secret  of  happiness. 
Too  proud  and  self-satisfied  to  dissemble,  they  made 
little  effort  to  conceal  their  principles.  I  saw  their 
hearts  contracted  by  the  vileness  of  egotism,  and  de- 
voured with  measureless  ambition.  A  faithful  scrutiny, 
which  penetrated  beyond  their  dazzling  exterior,  showed 
me  the  righteous  reaction  of  their  principles,  and  con- 
vinced me  that  they  suffered  according  to  their  deserts. 

Weary  and  disheartened,  I  left  them,  and  repaired  to 
the  class  of  stern  and  austere  moralists.  They  repre- 
sented the  world  to  me  as  a  melancholy  and  mysterious 
valley,  through  which  the  sojourner  passes,  groaning  on 
his  way  to  the  grave.  Their  doctrines  inspired  me  at 
once  with  sadness  and  terror.  I  soon  resumed  the  elas- 
tic confidence  of  youth,  and  replied,  '  I  will  never 
believe  that  the  Author  of  my  being,  who  has  imaged  in 
my  heart  such  pure  and  tranquil  pleasures,  who  has 
rendered  man  capable  of  chaste  love,  and  of  friendship 
in  its  sanctity,  who  has  formed  us  innocent  before  we 


could  practise  virtue,  and  who  has  connected  the  salu- 
tary bitterness  of  repentance  with  errors,  has  unalterably- 
willed  our  misery.' 

Thence  I  passed  to  the  opposite  extreme,  and 
accosted  a  gay  and  reckless  throng,  whose  deportment 
showed  that  they  had  found  the  object  of  my  pursuit. 
I  discovered  them  to  be  fickle  by  character,  and  vacilla- 
ting from  indifference.  They  had  only  escaped  the 
errors  of  the  moralists,  by  substituting,  in  place  of  their 
austere  maxims,  enjoyments  without  any  regard  to  con- 
sequences. 1  asked  them  to  point  me  to  happiness. 
Without  comprehending  the  import  of  my  question,  they 
offered  me  participation  in  their  pleasures.  But  I  saw 
them  prodigal  of  life*  dissipating  years  in  a  few  days, 
and  reserving  the  remnant  of  their  existence  for  unavail- 
ing repentance.2 

In  view  of  so  many  observations,  I  abandoned  the  idea 
of  guiding  my  researches  by  the  counsels  of  others  j 
and  began  to  inquire  for  the  secret  in  my  own  bosom. 
I  heard  the  multitude  around  me  complaining,  in  disap- 
pointment and  discouragement.  I  resolved,  that  I  would 
not  commence  the  pursuit  of  happiness  by  servilely  fol- 
lowing in  their  beaten  path.  I  determined  to  reflect, 
and  patiently  investigate  a  subject  of  so  much  moment. 
I  detected  at  once  the  error  of  the  common  impression, 
that  pleasure  and  happiness  are  the  same.  The  former, 
fickle  and  fleeting,  assumes  forms  as  various  as  human 
caprice  ;  and  its  most  attractive  charm  is  novelty.  The 
object  which  gives  it  birth  today,  ceases  to  please,  or 
inspires  disgust  tomorrow.  The  perception  of  happi- 
ness is  not  thus  changeable  and  transient.  It  creates 
the  consciousness  of  an  existence  so  tranquil  and  satis- 
4* 


42 


fying,  that  the  longer  we  experience  it,  the  more  we 
desire  to  prolong  its  duration. 

Another  mistaken,  though  common  impression  is,  that 
the  more  profoundly  we  reflect,  and  make  the  pursuit 
of  happiness  a  study,  the  less  we  shall  be  likely  to  enjoy. 
This  is  an  error  not  only  in  regard  to  happiness,  hut 
even  pleasure.  If  it  be  innocent  and  exempt  from 
danger,  to  analyze  it,  and  reason  upon  it,  so  far  from 
diminishing,  prolongs  the  delight,  and  renders  it  higher. 
Without  reflection  we  only  skim  its  surface  ;  we  do  not 
penetrate,  and  enjoy  it. 

Let  us  observe  the  few,  who  have  acquired  the  wis- 
dom to  enjoy  that  existence,  which  the  multitude  waste. 
In  their  festal  unions  of  friendship,  let  us  mark  the 
development  of  their  desire  to  multiply  the  happy  mo- 
ments of  life.  By  what  ingenious  and  pleasant  discus- 
sions do  they  heighten  the  charms  of  their  condition !  With 
what  delicacy  of  tact  do  they  analyze  their  enjoyments, 
to  taste  them  with  a  more  prolonged  and  exquisite 
relish  !  With  what  skill  do  they  discipline  themselves 
sometimes  to  efface  the  images  of  the  future,  that  nothing 
may  embitter,  or  distract  their  relish  of  the  present ;  and 
sometimes  to  invoke  remembrances  and  hopes,  to  impart 
to  it  still  brighter  embellishments  ! 

Contrary  to  the  prevalent  impression,  I  therefore 
deem  that,  to  reflect  much  upon  it,  is  one  of  the  wisest 
means  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  The  first  analysis  of 
reflection,  it  is  true,  dispels  the  charm  with  which 
youth  invests  existence.  It  forces  the  conviction  upon 
us,  that  the  pleasures  of  life  are  less  durable,  and  its 
forms  more  numerous  and  prolonged,  than  we  had  an- 
ticipated. The  first  result  of  the  process  is  discourage- 


43 

rnent.  But,  as  we  continue  to  reflect,  objects  change 
their  aspect  a  second  time.  The  evils  which  at  the 
first  glance  seemed  so  formidable,  lose  a  portion  of  their 
terrific  semblance ;  and  the  fleeting  pleasures  of  exist- 
ence receive  new  attractions  from  their  analogy  to  human 
weakness. 

They  mistake,  too,  who  suppose  that  the  art  on  which 
I  write  b,as  never  been  taught.  The  sages  of  Greece  in- 
vestigated the  science  of  happiness  as  eloquently  and 
profoundly,  as  they  studied  the  other  sciences.  They 
wisely  held  the  latter  in  estimation  only  so  far  as  they 
were  subservient  to  the  former.  In  all  succeeding  ages 
there  have  arisen  a  few  thinking  men,  who  have  regarded 
all  their  faculties,  their  advantages  of  nature  and  for- 
tune, their  studies  and  acquirements,  not  as  ends  in 
themselves,  but  as  means  conducive  to  the  right  pursuit 
of  happiness. 

So  long  a  period  has  elapsed  since  this  has  been  a 
subject  of  investigation,  that  when  the  opinion  is  ad- 
vanced that  this  pursuit  may  be  successfully  conducted 
by  system,  its  rules  reduced  to  an  art,  and  thus  become 
assimilated  to  those  of  the  other  arts,  most  men  are 
utterly  incredulous.3  No  truth,  however,  is  more  sim- 
ple. To  attain  to  a  knowledge  of  the  rules,  it  is  only 
requisite,  as  in  the  other  arts,  that  there  should  be  natural 
dispositions  for  the  study,  favorable  circumstances,  and 
an  assiduous  investigation  of  the  precepts. 

The  influence  of  fortunate  dispositions  for  this  study 
is  chiefly  discernible  in  men  of  marked  and  energetic 
character.  Some  are  endowed  by  nature  with  such 
firmness  and  force  of  character,  that  misfortune  cannot 
shake  them.  It  slides,  if  I  may  so  speak,  over  the  sur- 


44 


face  of  their  stoical  hearts,  and  the  shock  of  adversity 
inspires  them  almost  with  a  sort  of  pleasure,  calling  forth 
the  conscious  feeling  of  power  and  independence  for 
resistance.  But  we  observe  the  greater  number  shrink- 
ing from  affliction,  and  even  images  of  sadness,  enjoying 
the  present  without  apparent  consciousness,  and  forget- 
ting the  past  without  regret.  Always  fickle  and  frivo- 
lous, they  evade  suffering  by  recklessness  and  .gayety. 
The  most  perfect  organization  for  happiness4  imparts 
at  the  same  time  great  force  to  resist  the  pains  of  life, 
and  keen  sensibility  to  enjoy  its  pleasures.  I  am  aware 
that  great  energy  and  quick  sensibility  are  generally 
supposed  to  be  incompatible  qualities ;  I  have,  never- 
theless, often  seen  them  united.  I  would  lay  down 
precepts,  by  which  to  obtain  the  combination.  By  a 
more  perfect  education,  it  is  hoped  that,  in  the  ages  to 
come,  this  union  may  become  general. 

Perhaps  some  will  ask,  if  he  who  thus  assumes  to 
teach  the  art  of  happiness  has  himself  learned  to  be 
constantly  happy  ?  Endowed  with  a  moderate  share  of 
philosophy,  and  aided  by  favorable  circumstances,  1  have 
thus  far  found  the  pleasures  of  life  greatly  overbalancing 
its  pains.  But  who  can  hope  felicity  without  alloy  ?  I 
would  not  conceal  that  I  have  had  my  share  of  inquie- 
tudes and  regrets  ;  and  I  have  sometimes  forgotten  my 
principles.  I  resemble  the  pilot,  who  gives  lessons 
upon  his  art  after  more  than  one  shipwreck.5 


45 


LETTER   V. 

OUR    DESIRES. 

WHENCE  are  our  most  common  sufferings  ?  From 
desires  which  surpass  our  ability  to  satisfy  them.  The  an- 
cients relate,  that  Oromazes  appeared  to  Usbeck,  the 
virtuous,  and  said,  '  form  a  wish,  and  I  will  grant  it.' 
'  Source  of  light,'  replied  the  sage,  '  I  only  wish  to  limit 
my  desires  by  those  things,  which  nature  has  rendered 
indispensable.'6 

Let  us  not  suppose,  however,  that  a  negative  happi- 
ness, a  condition  exempt  from  suffering,  is  the  most 
fortunate  condition  to  which  we  may  aspire.  They 
who  contend  for  this  gloomy  system,  have  but  poorly 
studied  the  nature  of  man.  If  he  errs  in  desiring  positive 
enjoyments,  if  bis  highest  aim  ought  to  be,  to  live  free 
from  pain,  the  caves  of  the  forest  conceal  those  happy 
beings  whom  we  ought  to  choose  for  our  models. 

Bounded  by  the  present,  animals  sleep,  eat,  procreate, 
live  without  inquietude,  and  die  without  regret :  and 
this  is  the  perfection  of  negative  happiness.  Man,  it  is 
true,  loses  himself  in  vain  projects.  His  long  remem- 
brances, his  keen  foresight  create  him  suffering  in  the 
past  and  the  future.  His  imagination  brings  forth  er- 
rors, his  liberty,  crimes.  But  the  abuse  of  his  faculties 
does  not  disprove  their  excellence.  Let  him  consecrate 
to  directing  them  aright,  that  time  which  he  has  hitherto 
lost  jn  mourning  over  their  aberrations,  and  he  will 
have  reason  to  be  grateful  to  the  Creator,  for  having 


46 


given  him  the  most  exalted  rank  among  sublunary 
beings.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  chooses  to  aban- 
don that  rank,  of  which  he  ought  to  be  proud,  he 
will  degrade  his  immortal  nature  at  his  own  cost ;  and 
will  only  add  to  his  other  evils  the  shame  of  wishing  to 
render  himself  vile. 

Let  us  examine  those  animals,  the  instincts  of  which 
have  the  nearest  relation  to  intelligence.  Not  one  of 
them  takes  possession  of  the  paternal  heritage,  increases 
it,  and  transmits  it  to  posterity.  Man  alone  does  this,  im- 
proves his  condition  and  his  kind,  and  in  this  is  essentially 
distinct  from  all  other  beings  below.  From  the  Eternal 
to  him,  and  from  him  to  animals  the  chain  is  twice 
broken. 

For  man,  the  absence  of  suffering  and  a  negative  hap- 
piness are  not  sufficient.  His  noble  faculties  refuse  the 
repose  of  indifference.  Created  to  aspire  to  whatever 
may  be  an  element  of  enjoyment,  let  him  cherish  his 
desires,  and  let  them  indicate  to  him  the  path  of  happi- 
ness ;  too  fortunate,  if  they  do  not  entice  him  towards 
objects,  which  ^ retire  in  proportion  as  he  struggles  to 
attain  them,  and  towards  those  imaginary  joys,  of  which 
the  deceitful  possession  is  more  fertile  in  regrets  than 
in  pleasures. 

Far  from  being  the  austere  censor  of  desires,  I  admit, 
that  they  often  produce  charming  illusions.  What  loveli- 
ness have  they  not  spread  over  our  spring  of  life  !  Our 
imagination  at  that  time,  as  brilliant  and  as  vivid  as  our 
age,  embellished  the  whole  universe,  and  every  position  in 
which  our  lot  might  one  day  place  us.  We  were  oc- 
cupied with  errors  ;  but  they  were  happy  errors  ;  and  to 
degire  was  to  enjoy. 


47 

Those  enchanting  dreams,  which  hold  such  a  delight- 
ful place  in  the  life  of  every  man,  whose  imagination  is 
gay  and  creative,  spring  from  our  desires.  Ingenious 
fictions  !  Prolific  visions  !  While  ye  cradle  us,  we  pos- 
sess the  object  of  our  magic  reveries.  Real  possession 
may  be  less  fugitive.  But  may  it  not  also  vanish  like  a 
dream  ? 

Doubtless  there  are  dangers  blended  with  these  seduc- 
tive imaginings.  In  leaving  the  region  of  illusion,  the 
greater  part  of  men  look  with  regret  upon  the  abodes  of 
reality,  in  which  they  must  henceforward  dwell.  Let 
us  not  share  their  gloomy  weakness.  Let  us  learn  to 
enjoy  the  moments  of  error,  and  perpetuate  and  renew 
them  by  remembrance.  Children,  only,  are  allowed  to 
weep,  when  the  waking  moment  dispels  the  toys,  of 
which  a  dream  had  given  them  possession. 

We  give  ourselves  up  to  illusions  without  danger,  if 
we  have  formed  our  reason  ;  if  we  wisely  think  that  the 
•situation  where  our  lot  has  placed  us  may  have  ad- 
vantages which  no  other  could  offer.  Imagination  em- 
bellishes some  hours  without  troubling  any.  Prompt  to 
yield  to  the  delightful  visions,  there  are  few  of  which  1 
have  not  contemplated  the  charm.  In  seeing  them  van- 
ish like  a  fleeting  dream,  I  look  round  on  rny  w^fe  and 
children,  and  believe  that  I  am  remembered  by  a  few 
friends.  1  open  my  heart  to  the  pleasures  of  my  retreat, 
which,  though  simple,  are  ever  new.  As  the  gilded 
creations  of  imagination  disappear,  I  smile  at  my  creative 
occupation,  and  console  myself  with  the  consciousness, 
that  fancy  can  paint  nothing  brighter  or  more  satisfying, 
than  these  my  realities.7 

But  let  me  hasten  to  make  an  important  distinction, 


48 


to  prevent  the  semblance  of  contradiction.  Let  me 
discriminate  those  fleeting  desires,  which  amuse,  or  de- 
lude us  for  a  moment,  from  those  deep  cravings,  which, 
directing  all  our  faculties  towards  a  given  end,  necessarily 
exercise  a  strong  influence  upon  life.  It  is  time  to  con- 
template the  latter,  and  to  suggest  more  grave  reflections. 
While  the  scope  of  our  faculties  is  limited  to  narrow 
bounds,  our  desires  run  out  into  infinity.  From  this 
fact  result  two  reflections  —  the  one  afflicting,  that  the 
multitude  are  miserable,  because  it  is  easier  to  form, 
than  to  obtain  our  wishes ;  the  other  consoling,  that 
they  might  be  happy,  since  every  one  can  regulate  his 
desires. 

Reduced  to  the  necessity  to  realize,  or  restrain  them, 
which  course  does  wisdom  indicate  ?  Will  ambition  con- 
duct us  to  repose  ? 8  He  who  chases  its  phantoms,  re- 
sembles the  child  who  imagines  that  he  shall  be  able 
to  grasp  the  rainbow,  which  spans  the  mountain  in  the 
distance.  But  from  mountain  to  mountain,  a  new  hori- 
zon spreads  before  his  eyes.  But  the  courage  and 
perseverance  requisite  to  regulate  our  desires,  may  in- 
timidate us.  We  vex  ourselves  in  the  pursuit  of  fortune, 
honor  and  glory.  Philosophy  is  worth  more  than  the 
whole,  and  do  we  expect  to  purchase  it  without  pain  ? 
True,  she  declares  to  us,  that  to  realize  our  desires  is  a 
part  of  the  science  of  happiness  ;  but  by  no  means  the 
most  important  one.  Yet  it  is  the  only  one  to  which 
most  men  devote  themselves.  Philosophy  should  teach 
us,  what  desires  we  ought  to  receive  and  cherish,  as 
inmates.  When  they  are  fleeting  and  spring  from  a  gay 
and  creative  imagination,  let  us  yield  ourselves  without 
fear  to  their  transient  dreams.  But  when  they  may 


49 

exercise  a  long  and  decisive  influence,  let  a  mature  ex- 
amination teach  us,  whether  wisdom  allows  the  attempt 
to  realize  them.  Oh  !  how  much  uncertainty  and  tor- 
ment we  might  spare  our  weakness,  if  from  infancy  we 
directed  our  pursuit  towards  the  essential  objects  of 
felicity,  and  if  we  stripped  those,  which,  in  their  issue, 
produce  chimerical  hopes  and  bitter  regrets,  of  their 
deceitful  charms!  , What  gratitude  should  we  not  owe 
that  provident  instruction,  whose  cares  should  indicate, 
and  smooth  our  road  to  happiness  !  The  great  results, 
which  might  be  obtained  from  education,  would  be,  to 
moderate  the  desires,  and  to  find  some  indemnities  for 
the  sorrows  of  life.  On  the  present  plan,  by  arousing 
our  emulation,  by  enkindling  our  instinctive  ardor  to 
increase  our  fortune,  and  eclipse  our  rivals,  we  make  it 
a  study,  if  I  may  so  say,  to  render  ourselves  discontent- 
ed with  our  destiny  ;  and,  as  if  afraid  that  we  should 
not  be  sufficiently  perverted  by  the  contagion  of  exam- 
ple, we  invoke  ambition  and  cupidity  to  enter  the  soul. 
We  treat  as  chimerical  those  desires,  which  are  so  sim- 
ple and  pure,  as  to  be  pleasures  of  themselves,  and  which 
look  to  a  happiness  easy  of  attainment. 

Let  us,  then,  unlearn  most  of  the  ideas  we  have  re- 
ceived. Let  us  close  our  eyes  on  the  illusions  which 
surround  us.  Let  us  remould  our  plan  of  life,  and 
retain  in  the  heart  only  those  desires  which  nature  has 
placed  there.  Let  reflection  impart  energy  to  our  mind, 
and  be  our  guide  in  the  new  path  which  reason  opens 
before  us. 

We  shall  be  told,  that  these  desires  animate  us  un- 
sought and  continually.     I  admit  it.     But  in  most  men 
they  are  the  simple  result  of  instinct,  and  are  vague,  and 
5 


50 


without  decisive  effect.  A  craving  for  happiness  is  dif- 
fused as  widely  as  life.  The  enlightened  desire  of  hap- 
piness is  as  rare  as  wisdom.  The  mass  of  our  species 
do  not  avail  themselves  of  life,  to  enjoy  it ;  but  appa- 
rentlv  for  other  purposes.  My  first  and  fundamental 
maxim  is,  that  no  one  should  live  by  chance.  Enfran- 
chised from  vulgar  ideas,  and  guided  by  the  principles 
of  true  wisdom,  let  happiness  be  our  end ;  and  let  us 
view  all  our  employments  and  pursuits,  as  means. 

I  meet  men  of  sanguine  temperament,  who  say  in  the 
pride  of  internal  energy,  'my  calculations  must  succeed. 
I  am  certain  to  acquire  wealth.'  Another  of  the  same 
class  assures  me,  that  he  sees  no  turn  to  his  rapid  career 
of  advancement ;  and  that  he  is  confident  of  reaching 
the  summit  of  greatness.  What  more  fortunate  result 
can  he  propose,  than  happiness  ?  My  pupil  should  make 
all  his  plans  subservient  to  the  numbering  of  happy  days 
even  from  the  commencment  of  his  career.9 

Let  us  beware,  however,  of  aspiring  after  a  perfect 
felicity.  The  art  I  discuss,  will  not  descend  from  heav-' 
en.  Its  object  is,  to  indicate  desirable  situations, 
to  guide  us  towards  them,  when  they  offer,  and  to 
remove  the  vexations  of  life.  The  greater  part  of  man- 
kind might  exist  in  comfort.  They  fail  of  this,  in  aim- 
ing at  impracticable  amelioration  of  their  condition.  It 
is  an  egregious  folly  only  to  contemplate  the  dark  side 
of  our  case.  I  deem  it  a  mark  of  wisdom  and  strength 
of  mind,  rather  to  exaggerate  its  advantages. 

Let  us  carefully  ascertain,  what  things  are  indispens- 
able to  our  well-being ;  and  let  us  discipline  all  our  de- 
sires towards  the  acquisition  of  them.  If  I  consult  those 
who  are  driven  onward  by  the  whirlwind  of  life,  to  learn 


51 


what  objects  are  absolutely  necessary  to  my  end,  what  a 
long  catalogue  they  will  name  !  If  I  ask  moralists,  how 
many  sacrifices,  incompatible  with  human  nature,  will 
they  impose !  Agitated,  and  uncertain,  I  am  conscious, 
that  my  powers  are  equally  insufficient  to  amass  all 
which  the  former  prescribe,  or  to  tear  me  from  all  which 
the  latter  disdainfully  interdict. 

In  examining  this  all  important  subject,  without  the 
spirit  of  system,  I  realize,  that  the  essentials  of  a  happy 
life  are  tranquillity  of  mind,  independence,  health,  com- 
petence, and  the  affection  of  some  of  our  equals.  Let 
us  strive  to  acquire  them.  They  are  numerous,  I  ad- 
mit, and  difficult  to  unite  in  the  possession  of  an  indi- 
vidual. Nevertheless,  if  a  severe  discrimination  enabled 
us  to  bound  our  pursuit  by  the  desire  of  obtaining  only 
these  objects,  what  a  great  and  happy  change  would  be 
effected  upon  the  earth ;  and  how  many  disappointments 
would  be  henceforward  unknown  ! 10 


LETTER    VI. 

TRANdUILLITY     OF    MIND. 

BY  the  word  tranquillity  I  designate  that  state  of  the 
mind  in  which,  estranged  from  the  weaknesses  of  life, 
it  tastes  that  happy  calm  which  it  owes  to  its  own  power 
and  elevation.  Inaccessible  to  storms,  it  still  admits 
those  emotions  which  give  birth  to  pure  pleasures,  and 
yields  to  the  generous  movements  which  the  virtues  in- 


spire.  Tranquillity  seems  indifference  only  in  the  eyes 
of  the  vulgar.  A  delightful  consciousness  of  existence 
accompanies  it.  We  may  meditate  with  a  just  pride 
upon  the  causes  which  produce  it.  Without  reasoning 
we  respire  and  enjoy  it.  It  is  the  appropriate  pleasure 
of  the  sage. 

A  pure  conscience  is  the  profoundest  source  of  this 
delightful  calm.  Without  it,  we  shall  attempt  in  vain  to 
veil  our  faults  from  ourselves,  or  to  listen  only  to  the 
voice  of  adulation.  An  interior  witness  must  testify 
that  we  have  sometimes  sought  occasions  to  be  useful ; 
and  that  we  have  always  welcomed  those  who  offered 
us  opportunities  to  do  good. 

Another  condition  equally  necessary  is  to  close  the 
heart  against  unregulated  ambition.  I  am  well  aware, 
in  laying  down  this  precept,  that  I  shall  be  deemed  an' 
idle  dreamer.  If  you  are  convinced  beyond  argument 
that  there  is  nothing  worth  seeking  in  life  but  distinctions 
and  honors,  you  may  close  my  book.  If  you  are  ready 
to  receive  these  brilliant  illusions  when  they  come  un- 
sought, and  return  to  the  repose  of  your  heart  should 
you  obtain  them  not,  you  may  pursue  the  reading  of  my 
lessons. 

Do  not  fear  that  I  am  about  to  announce  trite  truths 
touching  the  vices  which  ambition  brings  in  its  train, 
and  the  shameful  actions  and  base  measures  by  which 
it  proposes  to  elevate  its  aspirant.  Why  should  I  de- 
claim in  common-place  against  ambition  when  I  have 
truths  to  offer  so  pressing,  simple  and  self-evident? 

To  consecrate  to  true  enjoyment  as  many  days  as 
possible,  to  lose  in  disquieting  desires  as  few  moments 
as  we  may,  these  are  the  elements  of  my  philosophy. 


53 


The  world,  on  the  other  hand,  incessantly  repeats, 
'  Shine  —  ascend  high  places  —  bind  fortune  to  your  cha- 
riot wheels ;'  the  multitude  listen,  and  consume  life  in 
tormenting  desires  which  end  in  disappointment.  I  say 
to  my  disciple,  make  your  pursuit,  whatever  it  be,  a 
source  of  present  enjoyment,  and  be  happy  without  de- 
lay. But  the  cry  of  objection  reaches  me,  '  would  you 
wish  him  to  vegetate  in  obscurity  and  never  transcend 
the  limits  of  the  narrow  circle  in  which  he  was  born  ?' 
I  would  have  him  enjoy  the  self-respect  of  conscious 
usefulness,  and  taste  all  the  innocent  pleasures  of  the 
senses,  the  heart,  mind  and  understanding.  Farther 
than  these,  I  see  nothing  but  the  miserable  inquietudes 
of  vanity.  I  admit  that  the  pleasures  of  gratified  ambi- 
tion are  high  flavored  and  intoxicating ;  but  compelled 
to  choose  among  enjoyments  which  cannot  all  be  tasted 
together,  I  balance  the  delights  which  they  spread  over 
life  with  the  pains  which  it  must  cost  to  obtain  them.  If 
I  incline  to  ambition,  I  must  fly  privacy  and  my  retreat; 
and  renounce  the  pleasures  which  my  family,  friends 
and  free  pursuits  daily  renew.  J  must  no  longer  inhabit 
the  paradise  of  my  pleasant  dreams.  Abandoning  the 
simple  and  sincere  enjoyments  of  obscurity,  I  abandon 
repose  and  independence. 

Suppose  I  obtain  those  honors  of  which  the  distant 
brilliancy  dazzles  my  vision,  what  destiny  can  I  propose 
to  myself?  How  long  can  I  enjoy  my  honors?  Be- 
sieged by  incessant  alarm,  through  fear  of  losing  them, 
how  often  shall  I  sigh  over  the  ill-judged  exchange  by 
which  I  bartered  peace  and  privacy  for  them  ?  Number 
all  the  truly  happy  days  of  the  ambitious — they  are 
those  in  which,  forming  his  projects,  and,  in  his  imagina-* 
5* 


f>4 


lion,  removing  the  obstacles  that  lie  in  his  way,  he  em- 
bellishes his  career  with  the  illusions  of  his  fancy.  Too 
often  the  desired  objects,  which  in  the  distance  glittered 
Jn  his  eyes,  resemble  those  paintings  which,  seen  from 
afar,  present  enchanting  scenery,  but  offer  only  revolt- 
ing views  when  beheld  close  at  hand. 

I  wish  to  avoid  the  usual  exaggeration  upon  these 
subjects.  Moralists  deceive  us  when  painting  the  con- 
trast between  the  virtues  and  the  vices ;  they  assign  un- 
mingled  felicity  to  the  one,  and  absolute  misery  to  the 
other.  I  am  sensible  that  even  in  his  deepest  inquietudes, 
and  notwithstanding  his  desires  and  regrets,  the  votary 
of  ambition  still  has  his  moments  of  intoxicating  pleas- 
ure. It  is  not  this  alone,  but  happiness  we  seek.  If  we 
wish  only  to  toil  up  the  heights  of  ambition  to  enjoy  the 
dignities  of  the  summit,  counsels  are  useless.  If  we  ask 
for  nothing  more  than  pleasures,  they  may  be  varied  to 
infinity,  and  be  found  pervading  all  situations  in  forms 
appropriate  to  all  characters.  This  hypocrite,  that  vic- 
tim of  envy,  yonder  miser,  do  they  experience,  the 
moralist  will  ask,  nothing  but  torment?  Mark  the 
misanthrope  who  incessantly  repeats  that  in  a  world 
peopled  with  perverse  beings  and  malign  spirits,  existence 
is  an  odious  burden.  This  man,  notwithstanding,  finds 
his  pleasures  in  a  world  which  he  affects  so  to  detest. 
Every  invective  which  he  throws  out  against  it,  is  a 
eulogy  reflected  back  upon  himself.  He  rises  in  his  own 
estimation  in  proportion  as  he  debases  others,  and  finds 
ia  himself  all  the  qualities  which  he  makes  them  want. 
Does  he  meet  with  a  partisan  of  his  principles?  how  de- 
lightful for  two  misanthropes  to  communicate  their  dis- 
coveries, and  to  make  a  joint  war  of  sarcasm  upon  the 


55 


human  race  !  Does  be  find  an  antagonist  ?  he  experi- 
ences a  charm  in  controverting  him.  Besides,  as  in 
vilifying  human  nature,  no  one  can  want  either  facts  or 
arguments  to  present  it  in  hues  sufficiently  dark,  in 
the  complacency  of  conscious  triumph,  he  terminates 
his  war  of  words. 

The  votary  of  ambition  not  only  has  pleasures  which 
are  often  dazzling,  but  perhaps  enjoyments  not  within 
the  ordinary  ken,  which  require  profound  observation. 
The  ardent  aspiration  after  success  gives  a  charm  to 
efforts  in  the  struggle  which  would  otherwise  present  only 
unmixed  bitterness.  Acts  in  themselves  vile,  ridiculous, 
or  revolting,  contemplated  as  means  essential  to  a  pro- 
posed end,  lose  their  meanness  and  tendency  to  lessen 
self-respect.  It  is  possible,  in  this  view,  that  even  ex- 
traordinary humiliations  may  inspire  the  ambitious  with 
a  sort  of  pride,  in  the  consciousness  that  he  has  strength  to 
stoop  to  them  for  his  purposes.  In  fine,  it  is  too  true  that 
pleasure  may  be  found  in  the  most  capricious  aberrations, 
the  most  shameful  vices,  and  the  most  atrocious  crimes. 

It  will  be  seen  that  I  abandon  most  of  the  trite  decla- 
mation against  ambition.  I  touch  not  on  its  long  inqui- 
etudes, its  inevitable  torments,  exacerbated  a  hundred 
fold,  if  their  victim  preserve  degrees  of  mental  elevation 
and  remains  of  moral  sentiment.  Life  passes  pleasantly 
among  men  who  have  just  views,  upright  hearts  and 
frank  manners,  the  true  elements  of  greatness  and  en- 
joyment. Surrounded  by  such  minds,  we  respire,  as  it 
were,  a  free  and  an  empyrean  atmosphere.  Yield  your- 
self to  the  empire  of  ambition  ;  and  in  all  countries,  and 
in  all  time,  you  condemn  yourself  to  live  surrounded  by 
greedy,  unquiet,  false  and  vindictive  intriguers,  gnashing 


56 


their  teeth  at  all  success  in  which  they  had  no  agency. 
All  that  encircle  you  unite  insolence  and  baseness. 

Those  who  envy  authority  and  office  are  worthy  of 
commiseration.  Men  in  power  are  happy,  they  think. 
They  have  but  to  wish,  and  it  is  accomplished.  The 
epitaph  of  the  Swedish  minister  is  sublime,  and  the  index 
of  a  great  truth.  He  had  run  the  career  of  power  and 
fortune  with  success.  When  near  the  period  of  his 
death,  he  ordered  this  inscription  for  his  tomb  :  Tandem 
Felix.  Jit  last  1  am  happy. 

We  never  leave  the  society  of  the  great  as  we  entered 
it.  We  have  become  either  better  or  more  perverse. 
Inexperience  is  easily  dazzled  with  the  superficial  splen- 
dor. For  a  man  of  disciplined  mind  and  a  character 
of  energy,  it  is  the  most  useful  of  schools.  Here  he 
tests  and  confirms  his  principles.  Here  he  observes, 
sometimes  with  terror,  sometimes  with  disgust,  the  melan- 
choly results  of  the  seductive  passions.  He  here  sees 
those  who  seem  to  have  reached  all  their  aims  en- 
joying the  repose  of  happy  privacy.  I  anticipate  the 
objection,  '  that  this  is  all  absurdity  ;  that  not  one  will  be 
so  convinced  of  his  misery  as  to  resign  his  power  and 
descend  from  his  elevation  to  that  obscurity  for  which 
he  sighs.'  I  believe  it ;  and  I  see  in  this  a  deeper  shade 
in  his  misery.  He  has  so  long  experienced  the  perni- 
cious excitement  of  this  splendid  torment,  that  he  can  no 
longer  exist  in  repose. 

Such  is  the  lot  of  erring  humanity,  that  the  world 
naturally  associates  glory  and  happiness  with  ambition,, 
and  sees  not  that  the  associa'ion  is  formed  by  our  own 
mental  feeleness.  To  rise  above  vulgar  errors  and  the 
common  train  of  thinking,  to  form  sage  principles,  and, 
still  more,  to  have  the  courage  and  decision  to  follow 


57 


them,  this  is  the  proof  of  real  force  of  character.  But, 
to  feel  the  need  of  dazzling  the  vulgtfr,  to  be  willing  to 
creep  in  order  to  rise,  to  struggle  and  dispute  for  trinkets, 
this  is  the  common  standard  by  which  the  multitude 
estimate  a  great  mind. 

Philosophers  are  accused  of  having  presented  grandeur 
under  an  unfavorable  aspect  in  order  to  console  them- 
selves for  not  having  enjoyed  it.  History  reads  us 
another  lesson.  Aristotle  instructed  the  son  of  Philip. 
Plato  was  received  at  the  courts  of  kings.  Cicero  re- 
ceived the  title  of '  father  of  his  country'  by  a  decree  of 
the  senate.  Boethius,  thrice  clad  with  the  consular 
purple,  when  his  locks  were  hoary,  was  dragged  to  a 
dungeon.  He  wrote  'the  consolations  inspired  by  phi- 
losophy,' and  laid  down  his  book  at  the  foot  of  the  scaf- 
fold. Marcus  Aurelius  honored  the  throne  of  the  world 
by  those  modest  virtues  which  shone  still  brighter  in 
obscurity.  Fenelon  was  raised  to  the  highest  dignities 
only  to  experience  their  bitterness,  and,  like  his  great 
predecessor,  to  owe  his  glory  and  his  happy  days  only 
to  wisdom  and  retirement.  Franklin  will  be  remember- 
ed in  all  time,  not  as  the  governor,  legislator  and  am- 
bassador, but  as  having  trained  himself  to  his  admirable 
philosophy  of  common  sense  amidst  the  laborious  occu- 
pations of  a  printer. 

The  certainty  of  acquiring  the  self-respect  of  con- 
scious usefulness,  a  certainty  which  the  great  can  seldom 
have,  ought  alone  to  determine  a  wise  man  to  quit  his 
obscurity.  But  if  the  emoluments  and  honors  of  a  high 
station  seduce  us,  let  us  value  our  independence  and  let 
us  not  exchange  treasures  for  tinsel. 

We  have  freedom  to  avoid  every  culpable  action,  and 


58 


to  contemplate  wilh  pit)  the  chimeras  of  ambition.  Let 
us  see  if  in  misfortune  we  can  preserve  tranquillity  of 
mind. 


LETTER    VII. 

OP    MISFORTUNE. 

IF  we  wish  our  precepts  to  be  followed,  we  must 
avoid  the  extremes  to  which  moralists  and  philosophers 
are  too  much  inclined  to  press  their  doctrines,  for  they 
are  impracticable  in  real  life.  It  is  useless  to  deny  that 
there  are  evils  against  which  the  aids  of  reason  and 
friendship  are  powerless.  Let  us  leave  him  who  is 
about  to  lose  a  being  whose  life  is  blended  with  his  own, 
to  groan  unreproved.  Time  alone  can  enfeeble  his  re- 
membrances and  assuage  his  pain.  To  render  man  in- 
accessible to  suffering  would  be  to  change  his  nature. 
Those  austere  moralists  who  treat  our  feebleness  with 
disdain,  and  who  would  render  us  indifferent  to  the 
most  terrible  blows  of  destiny,  would  at  the  same  time 
leave  us  no  sensibility  to  taste  pleasure.  Nothing  can 
be  more  absurd  than  the  vain  harangues  by  which  com- 
mon-place consolation  is  offered  to  those  who  mourn  a 
wife,  a  child,  a  friend.  All  reasonings  are  ineffectual 
when  opposed  to  these  words,  '  I  have  lost  the  loved  one. 
You  inform  me  that  my  misfortune  is  without  a  remedy, 
Oh  j  if  there  were  a  remedy,  instead  of  unavailing  tears, 
I  would  employ  it.  It  is  precisely  because  there  is  none, 
that  I  grieve.'  '  Your  tears  are  useless.'  '  Still  they 


59 


serve  to  solace  me.'  '  God  has  done  it.'  '  True,  and 
God  has  formed  my  heart  to  suffer  from  his  blow.' 
'  Your  child  is  happy,  and  knew  neither  the  errors  nor 
the  sorrows  of  life.'  '  A  parent's  instinctive  lovejnspired 
the  desire  that  I  might  teach  it  to  avoid  both  and  obtain 
happiness.'  '  In  the  course  of  a  long  career  your  friend 
gave  an  example  of  all  the  virtues.'  '  It  is  because  the 
loss  of  these  virtues  is  irreparable  to  me  that  I  must  de- 
plore his  death.'11 

The  greater  portion  of  men,  I  admit,  exaggerating 
their  regrets,  pay  a  tribute  of  dissembled  grief  rather  to 
opinion,  than  to  nature ;  and  cold  declamation  and 
frivolous  distractions  are  sufficient  to  console  them.  But 
the  orators  of  consolation  sometimes  press  their  lessons 
on  hearts  which  are  really  bleeding.  Let  such  groan 
at  liberty,  and  attempt  not  to  contradict  nature.  Soli- 
tude may  exalt  the  imagination  ;  but  it  also  inspires  con- 
soling ideas.  In  the  silence  of  its  refuge  the  desolate 
mourner  brings  himself  to  a  nearer  communion  with 
him  he  regrets.  He  invokes,  sees,  and  addresses  him. 
Grief  is  more  ingenious  than  we  imagine  in  rinding  con- 
solation, and  has  learned  to  employ  different  remedies 
according  as  the'wounds  are  slight  or  deep.  Two  per- 
sons have  each  lost  a  dear  friend.  The  one  studiously 
avoids  the  places  where  he  used  to  meet  his  friend.  The 
other  repairs  to  his  desolate  haunts,  and  surrounding 
himself  by  monuments  associated  with  his  memory,  he 
seeks,  if  I  may  so  say,  to  restore  him  to  life. 

The  death  of  a  beloved  wife  is,  perhaps,  the  most  in- 
consolable of  evils.  Let  this  follow  a  series  of  other  mis- 
fortunes, and  it  so  effaces  their  remembrance  that  the 
sufferer  feels  he  has  not  until  then  known  real  grief. 


60 


But  if  this  affliction  be  one  under  which  our  strength 
is  broken,  let  it  be  the  only  one  to  obtain  this  fatal 
triumph.  Under  all  other  misfortunes  we  may  find  in 
ourselves  resources  for  sustaining  them  ;  and  may  inva- 
riably either  evade  or  assuage  them,  or  mitigate  their 
bitterness  by  resignation. 

Moralists  have  expatiated  upon  the  manner  in  which 
a  sage  ought  to  contemplate  the  evils  of  life.  Instead 
of  subscribing  to  their  trite  maxims,  often  more  impo- 
sing than  practicable,  I  sketch  a  summary  of  my  philo- 
sophy. I  caution  the  feeble  and  erring  beings  that  sur- 
round me,  not  to  dream  of  unmixed  happiness.  I  invite 
them  to  partake  promptly  of  all  innocent  pleasures.  The 
evils  too  often  appended  to  them  may  follow.  Know 
nothing  of  those  which  have  no  existence  except  in 
opinion.  Struggle  with  courage  to  escape  all  that  may 
be  evaded.  But  if  it  become  inevitable  to  meet  them, 
let  resignation,  closing  your  eyes  on  the  past,  secure  the 
repose  of  patient  endurance  when  happiness  exists  for 
you  no  longer. 

Permit  me  to  give  these  ideas  some  development. 
If  I  may  believe  the  most  prevalent  modern  philosophy, 
tranquillity  of  mind  is  the  result  of  organization,  or  tem- 
perament, and  of  circumstances.  It  is  the  burden  of  my 
inculcation,  that  it  may  be  of  our  own  procuring ;  and 
that  we  owe  it  still  more  to  the  masculine  exercise  of 
our  reason,  discipline,  and  mental  energy,  than  to  our 
temperament  or  condition. 

We  have  reason  to  deplore  that  unhappy  being,  who, 
yielding  to  dreams  of  pleasure,  forgets  to  forearm  him- 
self against  a  fatal  awakening.  The  history  of  great 
political  convulsions,  and,  more  than  all,  that  of  the 


61 

French  revolution  furnishes  impressive  examples  of  this 
spectacle.  It  offers  more  than  one  instance,  in  the 
feebler  sex,  of  persons,  who  seemed  created  only  to  re- 
spire happiness.  To  the  advantages  of  youth,  talent  and 
beauty,  were  united  the  most  exalted  rank,  and  wealth, 
pleasure  and  power,  apparently  to  the  extent  of  their 
wishes.  To  the  dazzling  fascination,  with  which  a  bril- 
liant crowd  surrounded  their  inexperience,  many  of 
them  united  the  richer  domestic  enjoyments  of  the  wife 
and  mother.  In  the  midst  of  their  illusions,  the  revolu- 
tionary shout  struck  their  ear,  like  a  thunderstroke. 
Executioners  badethem  ascend  the  scaffold.12 

These  great  catastrophes,  I  know,  are  rare.  But 
there  will  never  cease  to  be  sorrows,  which  will  receive 
their  last  bitterness  only  in  death.  They  are  all  too 
painful  to  be  sustained,  unless  they  have  been  wisely 
foreseen.  Let  us  think  of  misfortune,  as  of  certain 
characters,  with  whom  our  lot  may  one  day  compel  us 
to  consort. 

It  is  novelty  alone,  which  gives  our  emotions  extreme 
keenness.  Whoever  has  strength  of  character,  may  learn 
to  endure  anything.  The  red  men  of  the  American  wil- 
derness are  most  impressive  examples  of  this  truth. 
Time,  however,  is  the  most  efficacious  teacher  of  the 
lesson  of  endurance.  Poussin,  in  his  painting  of  Eu- 
domidas,  has  delineated  the  human  heart  with  fidelity. 
The  young  girl  of  the  piece  abandons  herself  to  despair. 
Half  stretched  upon  the  earth,  her  head  falls  supinely  on 
the  knees  of  the  aged  mother  of  the  dying.  This  moth- 
er is  sitting.  Her  attitude  announces  mingled  medita- 
tion and  grief.  Amidst  her  tears,  we  trace  firmness  on 
her  visage.  One  of  the  two  women  is  taking  her  first 
6 


62 


lesson  of  misery.     The  other  has  already  passed  through 
a  long  apprenticeship  of  grief.13 

Reflection  imparts  anticipated  experience.  It  takes 
from  misery  that  air  of  novelty,  which  renders  it  terrible. 
When  a  wise  man  experiences  a  reverse,  his  new  posi- 
tion has  been  foreseen.  He  has  measured  the  sorrows, 
and  prepared  the  consolations.  Into  whatever  scene  of 
trial  he  is  brought,  he  will  show  in  no  one  the  embarrass- 
ment of  a  stranger. 

Taught  to  be  conscious  that  we  are  feeble  combat- 
ants, thrown  upon  an  arena  of  strife,  let  us  not  calcu- 
late that  destiny  has  no  blows  in  store  for  us.  Let  us 
prepare  for  wounds,  painful  and  slow  to  heal.  Let  us 
blunt  the  darts  of  misfortune  in  advance.  Then,  if  they 
strike  they  will  not  penetrate  so  deep.  But  in  premed- 
itating the  trials,  which  may  be  in  reserve  for  our  cour- 
age, let  not  anticipated  solicitude  disturb  the  present. 
Of  all  mental  efforts,  foresight  is  the  most  difficult  to 
regulate.  If  we  have  it  not,  we  fall  into  reverses  unpre- 
pared. If  we  exercise  it  too  far,  we  are  perpetually 
miserable  by  anticipation. 

The  philosopher  prepares  himself  for  contingent 
perils  by  processes  which  impart  a  keener  pleasure  to 
present  enjoyment.  He  better  understands  the  value  of 
the  moments  of  joy,  and  learns  to  dispel  the  fears, 
which  might  mar  their  tranquillity.  That  is  a  gloomy 
wisdom,  which  condemns  the  precepts  that  invite  us  to 
draw,  from  the  uncertainty  of  our  lot,  a  motive  to  em- 
bellish the  moment  of  actual  happiness.  Transient 
beings,  around  whom  everything  is  changing  and  in  mo- 
tion, adopt  my  maxims.  Let  us  aid  those  who  surround 
us,  to  put  them  in  practice.  Let  us  render  those  who 


63 


are  happy  today  more  happy.  Tomorrow  the  oppor- 
tunity may  have  passed  forever. 

As  though  nature  had  not  sowed  sufficient  sorrows  in 
our  path  during  our  short  career,  we  have  added  to  the 
mass  by  our  own  invention.  The  offspring  of  our  vani- 
ty and  puerile  prejudices,  these  factitious  pains  seem 
sometimes  more  difficult  to  support,  than  real  evils.  A 
warrior,  who  has  .shown  fearless  courage  in  the  deadly 
breach,  has  passed  a  sleepless  night,  because  he  was 
not  invited  to  a  party, or  a  feast;  or  because  a  riband, 
or  a  diploma  has  not  been  added  to  the  many,  with 
which  he  is  already  decorated.  I  had  been  informed, 
that  the  wife  and  son  of  a  distinguished  acquaintance 
were  dangerously  sick.  I  met  him  pale,  and  thoughtful. 
I  was  meditating,  how  to  give  him  hope  in  regard  to  the 
objects  of  his  supposed  anxiety.  While  I  was  hesitating 
how  to  address  him,  he  made  known  the  subject  of  his 
real  inquietude.  He  was  in  expectation  of  a  high  em- 
ployment. The  man  of  power,  in  whose  hand  was  the 
gift,  had  just  received  him  coldly  a  second  time.  He 
was  anxiously  calculating  his  remaining  chances,  and 
striving  to  divine  the  causes  of  his  discouraging  recep- 
tion. 

To  avoid  such  ridiculous  agonies,  let  us  adopt  a  max- 
im, not  the  less  true,  because  the  phrase,  in  which  I 
express  it,  may  seem  trivial.  Three  quarters  and  half 
the  remaining  quarter  of  our  vexations  are  not  worth 
wasting  a  thought  upon  their  cause.  I  add,  that  even 
in  expectations  which  appear  important,  we  ought  to 
fear  trusting  too  little  to  chance.  The  order  of  events, 
which  we  call  by  this  name,  is  often  more  sage  than 
any  that  human  calculation  can  arrange.  If  it  decides 


64 

in  a  manner  which  at  first  view  seems  greatly  against  us, 
let  us  defer  our  accusations,  until  we  have  more  thorough- 
ly tested  the  event.  I  have  met  a  man,  who  had  long 
been  an  aspirant  for  a  certain  place,  with  a  radiant  coun- 
tenance, having  just  obtained  it.  Three  months  after- 
wards, he  would  have  purchased  at  any  price  the  power 
of  recalling  events.  I  have  seen  another  friend  in  deso- 
lation, because  he  could  not  obtain  the  hand  of  the 
daughter  of  a  man,  whose  enterprises  promised  an  im- 
mense fortune.  He  had  been  rejected.  The  specula- 
tions of  her  father  all  failed  ;  and  the  reputation  of  his 
integrity  and  good  faith  with  them.  The  despairing 
lover  would  have  shared  the  poverty  and  disgrace  of  a 
helpless  family  ;  and  would  have  been  tormented,  be- 
sides, with  an  incompatible  union,  of  itself  sufficient  to 
have  rendered  him  miserable  in  the  midst  of  all  the  ex- 
pected prosperity.  One  event  is  contemplated  with  a 
charmed  eye  ;  another  with  despair.  The  issue  alone 
can  declare,  which  of  the  two  we  ought  to  have  de- 
sired. 

I  grant,  that  we  are  surrounded  by  real  dangers.  I 
pretend  not  to  be  above  suffering ;  and  I  attach  no  merit 
to  becoming  the  reckless  dupe  of  men  or  chance. 
The  highest  philosophy  is  at  the  same  time  the  most  sim- 
ple and  practicable.  There  is  no  error  more  common 
than  one,  which  is  taken  for  profound  wisdom.  Most 
men  look  too  deep  for  the  springs  of  events,  and  the 
motives  of  action.  In  many  alternatives,  we  shall  be 
most  wise  in  giving  the  reins  to  chance.  When  we  are 
menaced  by  an  evident  peril,  let  us  summon  all  our 
energy,  and  courageously  struggle  to  ward  it  off.  If, 
after  all,  neither  wisdom  can  evade  it,  nor  bravery  van- 


65 


tjuish  it,  let  us  see,  how  true  wisdom  ordains  us  to  sus- 
tain it. 

How  many  are  ignorant  of  the  value  of  resignation, 
or  confound  it  with  weakness  !  The  courage  of  resigna- 
tion is,  perhaps,  the  most  high  and  rare  of  all  the  forms 
of  that  virtue.  Man  received  the  gift  directly  from  the 
Author  of  his  being.  His  desires,  inquietudes,  misguid- 
ed opinions,  tiie  fruits  of  an  ambitious  and  incongruous 
education,  have  weakened  its  force  in  the  soul.  Who 
can  read  the  anecdote  of  the  American  wilderness  with- 
out thrilling  emotion  ?  An  Indian,  descending  the  Niag- 
ara river,  was  drawn  into  the  rapids  above  the  sublime 
cataract.  The  nursling  of  the  desert  rowed  with  in- 
credible vigor  at  first,  in  an  intense  struggle  for  life. 
Seeing  his  efforts  useless,  he  dropped  his  oars,  sung  his 
death  song,  and  floated  in  calmness  down  the  abyss. 
His  example  is  worthy  of  imitation.  While  there  is 
hope,  let  us  nerve  all  our  force,  to  avail  ourselves  of  all 
the  chances  it  suggests.  When  hope  ceases,  and  the 
peril  must  be  braved,  wisdom  counsels  calm  resigna- 
tion.1* 

In  regard  to  unconquerable  evils,  the  true  doctrine  is 
not  vain  resistance,  but  profound  submission.  It  con- 
ceals the  outline  of  what  we  have  to  suffer,  as  with  a 
veil.  It  hastens  to  bring  us  the  fruit  of  consoling  time. 
It  opens  our  eyes  to  a  clearer  view  of  the  possessions 
which  remain  to  us.  It  precedes  hope,  as  twilight 
ushers  in  the  day. 

It  is  by  laying  down  certain  well  ascertained  princi- 
ples of  conduct,  and  re-examining  them  every  day,  that  a 
new  .empire  is  given  to  reason,  and  that  we  learn  to  se- 
lect the  most  eligible  point  in  all  situations  in  life.  The 
6* 


66 


Greek  philosophers  were,  incontestably,  the  men,  who 
best  understood  the  art  of  becoming  happy.  Their 
studies  led  them  to  the  unwearied  contemplation  of  the 
true  good,  the  advantages  of  elevation  of  mind,  the  dan- 
ger of  the  passions,  and  a  calm  submission  to  inevitable 
ills.  Such  were  the  habitual  subjects  of  their  medita- 
tions and  discourses.  They  suffered  less  from  the 
evils  of  life,  only  because  they  cultivated  habits  of  pro- 
found reflection. 

Among  the  moderns,  in  pursuit  of  happiness,  some 
study  only  to  multiply  their  physical  enjoyments ;  and 
limited  to  gross  sensations,  differ  little  from  brutes,  ex- 
cept in  discoursing  about  what  they  eat.  Others, 
higher  in  the  scale  of  thought,  cultivate  the  pleasures 
of  literature  and  the  fine  arts.  But  disciplining  but  a 
single  class  of  their  powers,  with  a  view  to  distinguish 
themselves  from  the  vulgar,  they  are  not  always  more 
happy.  True  philosophy  is  chiefly  conversant  about 
that  kind  of  acquisition,  which  preeminently  constitutes 
the  rational  man,  forms  his  reason,  and  places  him,  as  a 
master,  in  the  midst  of  an  unreflecting  world  surrounded 
by  children  full  of  ignorance  and  fatuity. 


67 


LETTER     VIII. 

OF    INDEPENDENCE. 

WE  distinguish  many  kinds  of  liberty.  That  which 
we  owe  to  equal  laws,  without  being  indispensable  to  a 
philosopher,  renders  the  attainment  of  happiness  more 
easy  to  him.  However  men  differ  in  their  political 
opinions,  they  all  have  an  instinctive  desire  to  be  free. 
Every  one  is  reluctant  and  afraid  to  submit  himself  to 
the  capricious  power  of  those  about  him.  The  thirst  of 
power  is  only  another  form  of  this  ardor  for  inde- 
pendence. 

With  what  interest  we  read  in  history  of  those  igno- 
rant tribes,  unknown  to  fame,  whose  liberty  and  simple 
manners  at  once  astonish  and  delight  us  ?  When  visit- 
ing the  isles  of  Greece,  where  the  charm  of  memory 
rendered  the  view  of  their  actual  slavery  more  revolting, 
what  delight  the  traveller  experiences  in  traversing  the 
little  isle  of  Casos  which  had  never  submitted  to  the 
Ottoman  yoke !  He  there  found  the  usages  of  the 
ancient  Greeks,  their  costume,  their  beauty  and  their 
amiable  and  elevated  natural  manner.  This  isle  is  but 
a  rock.  But  its  dangerous  shores  have  defended  it 
against  tyranny.  Associations  with  the  songs  of  Homer 
and  Hesiod  are  renewed.  Such  a  picture  delights  even 
a  people  whose  manners  are  refined  to  a  degree  tending 
to  depravation.  Thus  those  opulent  citizens  who  find 
the  country  a  place  of  exile  still  decorate  their  splendid 
halls  with  landscapes  and  flowers. 


68 

Let  not  a  sensitive  and  wandering  imagination  kindle 
too  readily  at  the  recitals  of  travellers.  Were  we  to 
transport  ourselves  to  one  of  those  remote  points  of  the 
earth  where  felicity  is  represented  to  have  chosen  her 
asylum,  new  usages,  manners  and  pleasures,  and  a  for- 
eign people  every  moment  reminding  us  that  we  are 
strangers,  would,  perhaps,  give  birth  to  the  most  painful 
regrets.  When  in  our  youth  we  were  charmed  as  we 
read  of  the  prodigies  of  Athens  and  Rome,  we  uttered 
the  wish  that  we  had  been  born  in  those  renowned  re- 
publics. There  is  little  doubt  that,  had  our  wish  been 
realized,  we  should  be  glad  to  escape  their  storms,  in 
exchange  for  obscurely  tranquil  days. 
/  ft  is  a  distinguished  folly  which  impels  men  far  from 
their  country  in  search  of  happiness.  The  greater  por- 
tion, deceived  in  their  hopes  after  having  wandered 
amidst  danger,  die  with  regret  and  sorrow,  worn  out 
with  vexaton  resulting  from  the  broken  ties  and  remem- 
brances of  home.  Home  is  the  last  thought  that  comes 
over  the  departing  mind.  *  Et  dulces  moriens  reminis- 
citur  Argos.'  Ubi  pntria  ibi  bene  is  an  adage  which 
contains  as  much  wise  observation  as  elevated  patriot- 
ism. Our  country  is  our  common  mother.  We  ought 
to  love  and  sustain  her  more  firmly  in  her  misery  than 
in  her  prosperity. 

Whatever  manners,  opinions  and  talents  we  carry  into 
another  country,  we  are  still  strangers  there.  The  man- 
ners which  we  adopt  are  new  and  irksome.  The  eye 
sees  nothing  to  awaken  dear  and  embellished  remem- 
brances ;  and  we  find  in  the  heart  of  no  one  the  rever- 
berating chord  of  ancient  friendship  and  sympathy.  We 
always  regret  the  places  where  we  knew  the  first  plea- 


69 


sures  and  the  first  pains,  and  saw  the  first  enchanting 
visions  of  life  ;  the  cherished  spots  where  we  learned  to 
love  and  be  loved.  If,  returning  there,  drawn  back  by 
an  invincible  sentiment,  after  a  long  absence  we  see  it 
again,  what  sorrows  await  us !  We  find  ourselves  stran- 
gers in  our  own  country.  We  ask  for  our  parents  and 
friends  who  departed  in  succession.  The  blows  were 
struck  at  long  intervals.  We  receive  them  all  in  a  mo- 
ment. We  return  to  shed  tears  only  on  the  tombs  of 
our  fathers  J15 

Retreat  and  competence  everywhere  supply  a  wise 
man  a  degree  of  independence.  Even  when  the  sport 
of  oppression  and  injustice,  he  yields  to  these  evils  as 
the  caprices  of  destiny.  He  would  be  free  in  the  midst 
of  Constantinople  under  the  government  of  the  Sultan. 

Another  kind  of  liberty  is  the  portion  of  but  a  few  in 
our  own  country  —  the  liberty  of  disposing  of  our  whole 
time  at  our  choice.  To  those  who  understand  not  the 
value  of  time,  this  liberty  bequeaths  a  heavy  bondage. 
But  to  those  who  have  learned  the  secret  of  happiness 
it  is  of  inestimable  value.  The  privilege  of  (he  favored 
possessor  of  opulence  is  a  high  one.  Neither  the  slave 
of  business,  fashion,  opinion  or  routine,  it  is  in  his  power 
at  awaking  to  say  '  this  day  is  all  my  own.'15 

But  moralists  exclaim,  '  you  must  pay  your  debt : 
you  must  render  yourselves  useful  to  society.'  Let  me 
not  be  understood  to  inculcate  the  doctrine  of  indolence. 
Industry  will  have  wings  and  power  when  you  unite  it  to 
freedom.  But  how  many  repeat  the  hackneyed  cry  of 
c  the  debt  to  society,'  who,  in  the  choice  of  their  profes- 
sion, had  never  a  thought  but  of  its  honors  and  emolu- 
ments !  This  man  whose  industry  in  the  pursuit  of  bjg 


70 


choice  proves  that  his  toil  is  his  pleasure,  that  man  who 
is  in  earnest  to  serve  every  one  whom  he  can  oblige  and 
who  might  have  shone,  had  he  chosen  it,  in  the  career  of 
ambition,  but  who,  modest,  proud,  studious  and  free,  lives 
happily  in  the  bosom  of  retreat,  has  this  man  done  nothing 
to  acquit  his  debt  ?  Is  his  example  useless  to  society  ? 

If  my  condition  deny  me  leisure  and  independence  in 
regard  to  the  disposal  of  my  time,  without  bestowing 
much  concern  upon  the  choice  of  my  profession,  I 
should  choose  that  most  favorable  to  free  thoughts,  to 
breathing  the  open  air,  and,  as  much  as  might  be,  in 
view  of  a  beautiful  nature.  I  should  consider  it  as  a 
most  important  element  in  my  happiness  that  I  should  be 
chiefly  conversant  with  people  of  compatible  characters. 
The  profession  of  an  advocate,  perpetually  conversant 
with  the  follies,  vices  and  crimes  of  society,  is  one  of  the 
most  trying,  both  to  integrity  and  philosophy.  That  of 
the  physician,  continually  witnessing  groans,  tears  and 
physical  suffering,  however  painful  to  sensibility,  may 
become  the  source  of  high  reflected  pleasure  to  a  gen- 
erous and  humane  heart.  I  would  avoid  a  function  the 
disquieting  responsibility  of  which  would  disturb  my 
sleep.  Above  all,  I  should  dread  one  of  high  honor  and 
emolument,  connected  with  proportionate  uncertainty  of 
tenure. 

The  balance  of  enjoyment  being  taken  into  view,  I 
should  prefer  an  occupation  of  privacy.  It  would  be 
more  easy  at  once  to  obtain  and  preserve.  It  would 
expose  me  less  to  envy  and  competition.  Exempt 
from  the  inquietudes  inspired  by  severe  labors,  and  the 
ennui  of  important  etiquette,  I  should  at  least  find  an  ab- 
solute independence,  every  evening,  at  the  relinquish-1 


71 


ment  of  my  daily  routine  of  occupation,  and  I  should 
suffer  no  care  for  the  morrow ;  I  would  learn  to  enhance 
the  charms  of  my  condition  by  thinking  of  the  agitation, 
regrets  and  alarms  of  those  who  are  still  swept  by  the 
whirlwinds  of  life.  In  this  way  I  would  imitate  him  who, 
to  procure  a  more  delicious  repose,  placed  his  couch 
under  a  tent  near  the  sea,  to  be  lulled  by  the  dashing  of 
its  waves  and  the  noise  of  its  storms.  But  it  is  time  to 
contemplate  the  most  useful  kind  of  liberty,  the  only  in- 
dispensable kind,  and  happily  one  which  is  accessible  to 
all.  It  is  the  liberty  resulting  from  self-command  and 
inward  mastery  of  ourselves.  It  has  a  value  to  cause 
all  others  to  be  forgotten  —  a  value  which  no  other  kind 
can  replace. 

What  liberty  can  that  man  enjoy  who  is  the  slave  of 
ambition?  A  gesture,  a  look  of  the  eye,  a  smile  af- 
frightens  him  and  causes  him  painful  and  trembling  cal- 
culations what  that  sinister  sign  of  his  master  may  presage. 

Look  at  the  opulent  merchant  whose  hopes  are  the 
sport  of  the  winds^  seas,  robbers,  changes  of  trade,  mu- 
nicipal regulations,  and  a  crowd  of  agents  who  seem 
subordinate,  but  who  really  command  him. 

Whatever  kind  of  liberty  we  aim  to  possess,  we  may 
certainly  conclude  that  the  surest  means  to  enjoy  it  is  to 
have  few  wants.  But  how  restrain  our  wants  ?  The 
greater  portion  are  happily  placed  by  their  condition 
where  they  are  ignorant  of  the  objects  which  most  pow- 
erfully excite  and  seduce  desire.  The  golden  mean 
secludes  them  from  many  temptations  full  of  the  bitter- 
est regret,  and  exacts  of  them  little  effort  of  wisdom. 
In  the  class  of  men  of  leisure  and  elevated  mind  there 
are  two  means  of  rising  above  many  wants. 


72 


The  more  austere  philosophers  have  altogether  dis- 
dained those  pleasures  which  they  could  never  hope  to 
obtain.  Reducing  themselves  to  the  limits  of  the  strict- 
est necessity,  they  indemnify  themselves  for  some  priva- 
tions by  the  certainty  of  being  secured  from  many  pains, 
and  by  the  sentiment  of  conscious  independence.  This 
is,  doubtless,  one  of  the  surest  means  of  obtaining  inde- 
pendence ;  and  they  who  attempt  to  employ  any  other, 
differ  from  the  vulgar  by  their  principles  rather  than 
their  conduct. 

How  many  objects,  of  which  the  contemplation 
awakens  the  desires,  would  have  nothing  dangerous  if 
we  could  always  exercise  a  stern  self-control  over  our 
minds  !  The  surest  means  of  exercising  this  self-control 
is  to  reduce  the  number  of  our  wants.  To  do  it,  I 
admit,  demands  a  rare  elevation  of  mind  and  the  exer- 
cise of  a  high  degree  of  philosophy.  But  since  its  value 
is  beyond  its  cost,  let  us  dare  to  acquire  it. 

While  the  fleeting  dreams  of  pleasure  hover  around 
us,  let  reason  still  say  to  us,  '  an  instant  may  dissipate 
them.'  Let  us,  then,  be  ready  to  find  a  new  pleasure  in 
the  consciousness  of  our  firmness  and  our  masculine  and 
vigorous  independence.  An  enlightened  mind  reigns 
over  pleasures ;  and  while  they  glitter  around,  enjoys 
all  that  are  innocent ;  but  disdains  a  sigh  or  a  regret 
when  they  have  taken  wings  and  disappeared. 

I  commend  the  example  of  Alcibiades,  the  disciple  of 
the  graces  and  of  wisdom,  who  astonished  in  turn  the  proud 
Persian  by  his  dignity,  and  the  Lacedemonian  by  his 
austerity.  His  enemies  may  charge  him  with  incessant 
change  of  principle.  To  me  he  seems  always  the  same, 
always  superior  to  the  men  and  circumstances  that  sur- 


73 

round  him.  Such  strong  mental  stamina  resemble  those 
robust  plants  that  sustain,  without  annoyance,  the  ex- 
tremes of  heat  and  cold. 


LETTER   IX. 

OP    HEALTH. 

HEALTH  results  from  moderation,  gayety  and  the  ab 
sence  of  care.    Eternal  wisdom  has  ordained,  that  the 
emotions  which  disturb  our  days,  are  those  which  have 
a  natural  tendency  to  shorten  them,16 

If  there  were  ground  for  a  single  charge  against  the 
justice  of  nature,  it  would  be,  that  the  errors  of  inexpe- 
rience seem  punished  with  too  great  severity.  We 
prodigally  waste  the  material  of  life  and  enjoyment,  as 
we  do  our  other  possessions,  as  if  we  thought  it  inex- 
haustible. 

To  the  errors  of  youth  succeed  the  vices  of  mature 
age.  Ambition  and  cupidity,  envy  and  hatred  concur  to 
devour  the  very  aliment  of  life.  The  storms  which 
prostrate  the^  moral  faculties,  equally  sap  the  physical 
energy.  Every  debasing  passion  is  a  consuming  poison. 
To  what  other  source  of  evil  can  we  assign  those  inqui- 
etudes and  puerile  anxieties,  which  disturb  the  days  of 
the  greater  portion  of  mankind  ?  They  are  occupied  by 
trifling  interests,  and  agitated  by  vain  debates.  They 
watch  for  futile  excitements,  and  are  in  desolation  from 
chimerical  troubles.  Pleasant  emotions  sustain  life,  and 
produce  upon  it  the  effect  of  a  gentle  current  of  air 
7 


74 


upon  flame.  Trains  of  thought  habitually  elevated,  and 
sometimes  inclined  to  revery,  impart  pure  and  true  gay- 
ety  to  the  soul.  To  be  able  to  command  this  train  is 
one  of  the  rarest  felicities  of  endowment.  A  distin- 
guished physician  recorded  in  his  tablets  the  apparent 
paradox,  that  three  quarters  of  men  die  of  vexation  or 
grief. 

Huffland  has  published  a  work,  upon  the  art  of  pro- 
longing life,  full  of  interesting  observations.  '  Philoso- 
phers,' says  he,  '  enjoy  a  delightful  leisure.  Their 
thoughts,  generally  estranged  from  vulgar  interests,  have 
nothing  in  common  with  those  afflicting  ideas,  with  which 
other  men  are  continually  agitated  and  corroded.  Their 
reflections  are  agreeable  by  their  variety,  their  vague 
liberty,  and  sometimes  even  by  their  frivolity.  Devoted 
to  the  pursuits  of  their  choice,  the  occupations  of  their 
taste,  they  dispose  freely  of  their  time.  Oftentimes  they 
surround  themselves  with  young  people,  that  their  natu- 
ral vivacity  may  be  communicated  to  them,  and,  in 
some  sort,  produce  a  renewal  of  their  youth.'  We  may 
make  a  distinction  between  the  different  kinds  of  philos- 
ophy, in  relation  to  their  influence  upon  the  duration  of 
life.  Those  which  direct  the  mind  towards  sublime 
contemplations,  even  were  they  in  some  degree  super- 
stitious, such  as  those  of  Pythagoras  and  Plato,  are  the 
most  salutary.  Next  to  them,  I  place  those,  the  study 
of  which,  embracing  nature,  gives  enlarged  and  elevated 
ideas  upon  infinity,  the  stars,  the  wonders  of  the  uni- 
verse, the  heroic  virtues,  and  other  similar  subjects. 
Such  were  those  of  Democritus,  Philolaus,  Xenophanes, 
the  Stoics,  and  the  ancient  astronomers.' 

'  I  may  cite  next  those  less  profound  thinkers,  who 


75 


instead  of  exacting  difficult  researches,  seemed  destin- 
ed only  to  amuse  the  mind  ;  the  followers  of  which 
philosophy,  deviating  wide  from  vulgar  opinion,  peace- 
ably sustain  the  arguments  for  and  against  the  propo- 
sitions advanced.  Such  was  the  philosophy  of  Carne- 
ades  and  the  Academicians,  to  whom  we  may  add  the 
Grammarians  and  Rhetoricians.' 

'  But  those  which  turn  only  upon  painful  subtilties, 
which  are  affirmative,  dogmatic  and  positive,  which  bend 
all  facts  and  opinions  to  form  and  adjust  them  to  certain 
preconceived  principles  and  invariable  measures ;  in 
fine,  such  as  are  thorny,  arid,  narrow  and  contentious, 
these  are  fatal  in  tendency,  and  cannot  but  abridge 
the  life  of  those,  who  cultivate  them.  Of  this  class  was 
the  philosophy  of  the  Peripatetics,  and  that  also  of  the 
Scholastics.' 

Tumultuous  passions  and  corroding  cares  are  two 
sources  of  evil  influences,  which  philosophy  avoids. 
Another  influence,  adverse  to  life,  is  that  mental  feeble- 
ness, which  renders  persons  perpetually  solicitous  about 
their  health,  effeminate  and  unhappy.  Fixing  their 
thoughts  intensely  on  the  functions  of  life,  those  func- 
tions, that  are  subjects  of  this  anxious  inspection,  labor. 
Imagining  themselves  sick,  they  soon  become  so.  The 
undoubting  confidence  that  we  shall  not  be  sick,  is  per- 
haps the  best  prophylactic  for  preserving  health. 

I  am  ignorant  of  the  exact  influence  of  moral  upon 
physical  action,  in  relation  to  health.  But  of  this  I  am 
confident,  that  it  is  prodigious ;  that  physicians  have  not 
made  it  a  sufficient  element  in  their  calculations,  or 
employed  it  as  they  should  ;  and  that  in  future,  under  a 
wise  and  more  philosophic  direction,  it  may  operate  an 
immense  result,  both  in  restoring  and  preserving  health. 


76 


A  man  reads  a  letter,  which  announces  misfortunes, 
or  sinister  events.  His  head  turns.  His  appetite  ceases. 
He  becomes  faint,  and  oppressed ;  and  his  life  is  in  dan- 
ger. No  contagion,  however,  no  physical  blow  has 
touched  him.  A  thought  has  palsied  his  forces  in  a 
moment ;  and  has  successively  deranged  every  spring 
of  life.  We  have  read  of  persons  of  feeble  and  unin- 
formed mind,  who  have  fallen  sick,  in  consequence  of 
the  cruel  sport  of  those,  who  have  ingeniously  alarmed 
their  imagination,  and  cautiously  indicated  to  them  a 
train  of  fatal  symptoms.  Since  imagination  can  thus 
certainly  overturn  our  physical  powers,  why  may  it  not, 
under  certain  regulations,  restore  them  ?  Among  the 
numberless  recorded  cases  of  cures,  reputed  miraculous, 
it  is  probable,  that  a  great  part  may  be  accounted  for  on 
this  principle.17 

Suppose  a  paralytic  disciple  of  the  school  of  miracles, 
whose  head  is  exalted  with  ideas  of  the  mystic  power  of 
certain  holy  men,  and  who  is  meditating  on  the  succor 
which  he  expects  from  a  divine  interposition  manifested 
in  his  favor.  In  an  ecstasy  of  faith,  he  sees  a  minister 
of  heaven  descend  enveloped  in  light,  who  bids  him 
'  arise,  and  walk.'  In  a  moment  the  unknown  nervous 
energy,  excited  by  the  mysterious  power  of  faith,  touches 
the  countless  inert  and  relaxed  movements.  The  man 
arises  and  walks.  During  the  siege  of  Lyons,  when 
bombs  fell  on  the  hospital,  the  terrified  paralytics  arose 
and  fled. 

I  am  not  disposed  to  question  all  the  cures,  which  in 
France  have  been  attributed  to  magnetism.  We  know, 
what  a  salutary  effect  the  sight  of  his  physician  pro- 
duces on  the  patient,  who  has  confidence  in  him*  His 


77 

cheerful  and  encouraging  conversations  are  among  the 
most  efficient  remedies.  If  we  entertained  a  long  cher- 
ished and  intimate  persuasion,  that  by  certain  signs,  or 
touches,  he  could  dispel  our  complaints,  his  gestures 
would  have  a  high  moral  and  physical  influence.  Mag- 
netism was  in  this  sense,  as  Bailly  justly  remarked,  a 
true  experiment  upon  the  power  of  the  imagination.  At 
the  moment  of  its  greatest  sway,  while  some  regarded  it 
an  infallible  specific,  and  others  deemed  it  entirely  inef- 
ficient, another  class  held  it  in  just  estimation.  I  cite 
an  extract  from  the  report  of  the  Academy  of  Science. 
'  We  have  sought,'  say  they,  '  to  recognise  the  pres- 
ence of  the  magnetic  fluid.  But  it  escaped  our  senses. 
It  was  said,  that  its  action  upon  animated  bodies  was  the 
sole  proof  of  its  existence.  The  experiments,  which  we 
made  upon  ourselves,  convinced  us,  that,  as  soon  as  we 
diverted  our  attention,  it  was  powerless.  Trials  made  up- 
on the  sick  taught  us,  that  infancy,  which  is  unsusceptible 
of  prejudice  experienced  nothing  from  it ;  that  mental 
alienation  resisted  the  action  of  magnetism,  even  in  an 
habitual  condition  of  excitability  of  the  nerves,  where 
the  action  ought  to  have  been  most  sensible.  The 

effects  which  are  attributed  to  this  fluid,  are  not  visible 

> 

except  when  the  imagination  is  forewarned,  and  capable 
of  being  struck.  Imagination,  then,  seems  to  be  the 
principle  of  the  action. 

'  It  remained  to  be  seen,  whether  we  could  reproduce 
these  effects  by  the  influence  of  imagination  alone.  We  at- 
tempted it,  and  fully  succeeded.  Without  touching  the 
subjects,  who  believed  themselves  magnetised,  and  with- 
out employing  any  sign,  they  complained  of  pain  and  a 
great  sensation  of  heat.  On  subjects,  endowed  with 
7* 


78 


more  excitable  nerves,  we  produced  convulsions,  and 
what  they  called  crises.  We  have  seen  an  exalted  im- 
agination become  sufficiently  energetic  to  take  away  the 
power  of  speech  in  a  moment.  At  the  same  time,  we 
proved  the  nullity  of  magnetism,  put  in  opposition  with 
the  imagination.  Magnetism  alone,  employed  for  thirty 
minutes,  produced  no  effect.  Imagination  put  in  action 
produced  upon  the  same  person,  with  the  same  means, 
in  circumstances  absolutely  similar,  a  strong,  and  well 
defined  convulsion. 

'  In  fine,  to  complete  the  demonstration,  and  to  finish 
the  painting  of  the  effect  of  the  imagination,  a  power 
equally  capable  of  agitating,  and  calming,  we  have  caus- 
ed those  convulsions  to  cease  by  the  same  power,  which 
produced  them  —  the  power  of  the  imagination. 

1  What  we  have  learned,  or,  at  least  what  has  been 
confirmed  to  us  in  a  demonstrative  and  evident  manner, 
by  examination  of  the  processes  of  magnetism  is,  that 
man  can  act  upon  man  at  every  moment  and  almost  at 
will,  by  striking  his  imagination  ;  that  signs  and  ges- 
tures the  most  simple  may  have  effects  the  most  power- 
ful ;  and  that  the  influence  which  may  be  exerted  upon 
the  imagination,  may  be  reduced  to  an  art,  and  conduct- 
ed by  method.' 

These  truths  had  never  before  acquired  so  much  evi- 
dence. We  know,  that  cures  may  be  wrought  by  the 
single  influence  of  imagination.  Ambrose  Pare  Boer- 
haave,  and  many  other  physicians,  have  cited  striking 
proofs  of  this  fact.  The  first  of  these  writers  procured 
abundant  sweats  for  a  patient,  in  making  him  believe 
that  a  perfectly  inert  substance  given  him,  was  a  violent 
sudorific. 


79 

It  is  worthy  of  the  attention  of  moralists  and  physiolo- 
gists, as  well  as  physicians,  to  examine,  to  what  point  we 
may  obtain  salutary  effects,  by  exciting  the  imagination. 
But  perhaps,  there  would  soon  be  cause  to  dread  the 
perilous  influence  of  this  art,  which  can  kill,  as  well  as 
make  alive.  This  excitable  and  vivid  faculty  is  never 
more  easily  put  in  operation,  that  when  acted  upon  by 
the  presentiments  of  charlatanism  and  superstition. 

We  possess  another  means  of  operation,  which  may  be 
exercised  without  danger,  and  the  power  of  which  is, 
also,  capable  of  producing  prodigies.  Education  ren- 
dering most  men  feeble  and  timid,  they  are  ignorant, 
how  much  an  energetic  will  can  accomplish.  It  is  able 
to  shield  us  from  many  maladies ;  and  to  hasten  the 
cure  of  those  under  which  we  labor.  -* 

In  mortal  epidemics,  the  physicians,  who  are  alarmed 
at  their  danger,  are  ordinarily  the  first  victims.  Fear 
plunges  the  system  into  that  state  of  debility,  which 
predisposes  it  to  fatal  impressions,  while  the  moral  force 
of  confidence,  communicating  its  aid  to  physical  energy, 
enables  it  to  repel  contagion. 

I  could  cite  many  distinguished  names  of  men,  who 
attributed  their  cure,  in  desperate  maladies,  to  the  cour- 
age which  never  forsook  them,  and  to  the  efforts  which 
they  made  to  keep  alive  the  vital  spark,  when  ready  to 
become  extinct.  One  of  them  pleasantly  said,  '  1 
should  have  died  like  the  rest,  had  I  wished  it.'18 

Pecklin,  Barthes  and  others  think  that  extreme  de- 
sire to  see  a  beloved  person  once  more,  has  sometimes 
a  power  to  retard  death.  It  is  a  delightful  idea.  I  feel 
with  what  intense  ardor  one  might  desire  to  live  another 
day,  another  hour,  to  see  a  friend  or  a  child  for  the  last 


80 

time.  The  flame  of  love,  replacing  that  of  life,  blazes 
up  for  a  moment  before  both  are  quenched  in  the  final 
darkness.  The  last  prayer  is  accorded  ;  and  life  ter- 
minates in  tasting  that  pleasure  for  which  it  was  pro- 
longed. If  this  be  true,  the  principle  on  which  the  most 
touching  incident  of  romance  is  founded,  is  not  a  fiction. 

I  have  no  need  to  say  that  an  energetic  will  to  recover 
from  sickness  has  no  point  of  analogy  with  that  fearful 
solicitude  which  the  greater  part  of  the  sick  experience. 
The  latter,  produced  by  mental  feebleness,  increases  the 
inquietude  and  aggravates  the  danger.  Even  indiffer- 
ence would  be  preferable.  If  education  had  imparted 
to  us  the  advantages  of  an  energetic  will  and  real  force 
of  mind,  if  from  infancy  we  had  been  convinced  of  the 
efficacy  of  this  moral  power,  we  have  no  means  to  deter- 
mine that  it  would  not  have  been,  in  union  with  the  desire 
of  life,  an  element  in  the  means  of  healing  our  maladies. 

Medicine  is  still  a  science  so'conjectural  that  the  most 
salutary  method  of  cure,  in  my  view,  is  that  which  strives 
not  to  contradict  nature,  but  to  second  her  efforts  by 
moral  means.  I  am  ready  to  believe  that  amidst  the 
real  or  imagined  triumphs  of  science,  those  of  medicine 
will,  in  the  centuries  to  come,  hold  a  rank  to  which 
its  past  achievements  will  have  borne  no  proportion. 
But  what  an  immense  amount  of  experiment  will  be  ne- 
cessary !  How  many  unfortunate  beings  must  contri- 
bute to  the  expense  of  these  experiments  ! 

Contrary  to  the  general  opinion,  I  highly  esteem  phy- 
sicians and  think  but  very  little  of  medicine.  In  the 
profession  of  medicine  we  find  the  greatest  number  of 
men  of  solid  minds  and  various  erudition  ;  and  the  best 
friends  of  humanity.  But  they  are  in  the  habit  of  vaunt- 


81 


ing  the  progress  of  their  science.  To  me  it  seems  in- 
cessantly changing  its  principles,  without  ever  varying 
its  results.  The  systems  of  various  great  men  have  been 
successively  received  and  rejected.  Do  we,  however, 
imagine  that  the  great  physicians  who  have  preceded  us 
were  more  unfortunate  in  their  practice  than  those  of 
our  days  ?  Among  the  most  eminent  physicians  of  our 
cities,  one  practises  by  administering  strong  cathartics. 
Another  is  resolute  for  copious  bleeding.  A  third  bids 
us  watch  and  wait  the  indications  of  nature.  Each  of 
these  assumes  that  the  system  of  the  rest  is  fatal  —  and 
so,  it  would  seem,  it  should  be.  At  the  end  of  the  year, 
however,  I  doubt  if  any  one  of  them  all  has  more  re- 
proaches to  make,  as  regards  want  of  success,  than  any 
other. 

From  these  facts,  there  are  those  who  hold  that  it  is 
most  prudent  to  confide  to  nature,  as  the  physician  ;  for- 
getful that,  if  he  could  bring  no  other  remedy  than  hope, 
he  unites  moral  to  physical  aid.  Yet,  the  very  persons 
who,  in  health  are  readiest  to  maintain  this  doctrine,  like 
children  who  are  heroes  during  the  day  but  cowards  in 
the  dark,  when  they  are  sick,  are  as  prompt  as  others  in 
sending  for  the  physician. 

Even  if  agitation  and  fear  had  not  fatal  effects,  in  ren- 
dering us  more  accessible  to  maladies,  wisdom  would 
strive  to  banish  them,  in  pursuit  of  the  science  of  happi- 
ness. Fear,  by  anticipating  agony,  doubles  our  suffer- 
ings. If  there  could  exist  a  rational  ground  for  continual 
inquietude,  it  would  be  found  in  a  frail  constitution.  But 
how  many  men  of  the  feeblest  health  survive  those  of 
the  most  vigorous  and  robust  frame  !  Calculations  upon 
the  duration  of  li'fe  are  so  uncertain  that  we  can  always 
make  them  in  our  favor* 


82 


To  him  who  cultivates  a  mild  and  pleasant  philoso- 
phy, old  age  itself  should  not  be  contemplated  with 
alarm.  It  may  seem  a  paradox  to  say  that  all  men  are 
nearly  of  the  same  age,  in  reference  to  their  chances  of 
another  day.  Men  are  as  confident  of  seeing  tomorrow 
and  the  succeeding  day,  at  eighty,  as  at  sixteen.  Such 
is  the  beautiful  veil  with  which  nature  conceals  from  us 
the  darkness  of  the  future. 

In  general,  men  have  less  sympathy  for  the  suffering 
than  their  condition  ought  to  inspire.  We  meet  them 
with  a  sad  face  and  are  more  earnest  to  show  them  that 
we  are  afflicted  ourselves,  than  to  seek  to  cheer  their 
dejection.  We  multiply  so  many  questions  touching 
their  health  that  it  would  seem  as  if  we  feared  to  allow 
them  to  forget  that  they  were  sick. 

Of  all  subjects  of  conversation,  my  own  pains  and  phy- 
sical infirmities  have  become  the  least  interesting  to  me ; 
as  I  know  they  must  be  to  others.  I  do  not  wish  that 
those  who  surround  my  sick  bed  should  converse  as 
though  arranging  the  preparations  for  my  last  dress,  or 
determining  the  hour  of  my  interment. 

If  we  would  live  in  peace,  and  die  in  tranquillity,  let 
us,  as  much  as  possible,  avoid  importunate  cares.  Our 
business  is  to  unite  as  many  friends  as  we  may ;  and  to  be- 
guile pain  and  sorrow  by  treasuring  as  many  resources 
of  innocent  amusement  as  our  means  will  admit.  If  our 
sufferings  become  painful  and  incurable,  we  must  con- 
centrate our  mental  energy  and  settle  on  our  solitary 
powers  of  endurance.  We  die,  or  we  recover.  Nature, 
though  calm,  moves  irresistibly  to  her  point ;  and  com- 
plaint is  always  worse  than  useless.19 

But  in  arming  ourselves  with  courage  to  support  our 
own  evils,  let  us  preserve  sensibility  and  sympathy  for 


83 

the  sufferings  of  others.  It  is  among  the  dangerously 
sick  that  we  find  those  unfortunate  beings  who  are  most 
worthy  to  inspire  our  pity.  Their  only  expectation  is 
death,  preceded  by  cruel  tortures  ;  and  yet  they,  proba- 
bly, suffer  less  for  themselves  than  for  weeping  depend- 
ents whom  they  are  leaving,  it  may  be,  without  a  single 
prop.  Ah  !  during  the  few  days  of  sorrow  that  rern^n 
to  them  on  the  earth,  how  earnestly  ought  we  to  strive 
to  mitigate  their  pains,  to  calm  their  alarms  and  animate 
their  feeble  hopes  !  Blessed  be  that  beneficent  being 
who  shall  call  one  smile  more  upon  their  dying  lips  I'20 


LETTER   X. 

OF     CO  MPETENCE. 

PRETENDED  sages  announce  to  us,  with  sententious 
gravity,  that  virtue  ought  to  be  the  single  object  of  our 
desires  ;  that,  strengthened  by  it,  we  can  support  priva- 
tions and  misery  without  suffering.  Useless  moralists  ! 
Shall  I  yield  faith  to  precepts  which  the  experience  of 
every  day  falsifies?  It  is  only  necessary,  in  refutation, 
to  present  a  man  who  has  broken  his  limb,  or  whose 
children  suffer  hunger. 

His  plan  is  wise,  who  examines,  with  a  judgment  free 
from  ambition,  the  amount  of  fortune  necessary  to  com- 
petence in  his  case,  viewed  in  all  its  bearings ;  and  com- 
mences the  steady  pursuit  of  it.  Having  reached  that 
measure,  if  his  desires  impel  him  beyond  the  limit  which, 


84 


in  a  more  reasonable  hour,  he  prescribed  for  himself,  he 
henceforward  strives  to  be  happy  by  sacrificing  enjoy- 
ment. He  barters  it  for  a  very  uncertain  means  of  pur- 
chasing even  pleasures.  In  this  way  competence  be- 
comes useless  to  the  greater  part  of  those  who  obtain  it. 
Victims  of  the  common  folly,  and  still  wishing  a  little 
npre,  they  lose,  in  the  effort  to  get  rich,  the  time  which 
they  ought  to  spend  in  enjoyment.  We  see  grasping 
and  adroit  speculators  on  every  side ;  and,  but  rarely, 
men  who  know  how  to  employ  the  resources  of  a  mode- 
rate fortune.  It  is  not  the  art  of  acquiring  beyond  com- 
petence, but  of  wisely  spending,  that  we  need  to  learn. 

Our  business  in  life  is  to  be  happy  ;  and  yet,  simple 
and  obvious  as  this  truism  is,  the  greater  number  dis- 
dain or  forget  it.  To  judge  from  the  passions  and  ob- 
jects that  we  see  exciting  man  to  action,  we  should  sup- 
pose that  he  was  placed  on  the  earth,  not  to  become 
happy,  but  rich. 

To  what  purpose  so  many  cares  and  studies  ?  '  That 
man,'  we  are  answered  with  a  peculiar  emphasis,  '  has 
an  immense  income.'  In  his  rare,  brilliant  and  envied 
condition,  if  he  does  not  vegetate  under  the  weight  of 
ennui,  I  recognise  in  him  a  man  of  astonishing  merit. 

The  opulent  may  be  divided  into  two  classes.  The 
employment  of  the  one  is  to  watch  over  their  expendi- 
tures. The  other  study  the  mode  of  dissipating  their 
revenue.  Can  I  present,  in  detail,  the  cares  and  vexa- 
tions which  an  immense  fortune  brings?  The  possessor 
leaves  discussion  with  his  tenants,  to  commence  angry 
disputes  with  his  workmen.  From  these  he  departs  to 
listen  to  the  schemes  of  projectors,  or  to  the  information  of 
advocates.  Is  not  such  a  result  dearly  purchased  at  the 


85 


expense  of  repose,  independence  and  time  ?  Would  it 
not  be  better  to  relinquish  a  part  of  these  possessions,  in 
order  to  dispose,  in  peace,  of  the  remainder  ?  I  admit 
that  a  man  who  devotes  himself  to  lucrative  pursuits  is 
not  overwhelmed  with  continual  ennui.  The  banker 
respires  again,  after  having  grown  pale  over  his  accounts. 
A  speculation  has  succeeded,  and  the  enchantment  of 
success  banishes  his  alarms,  fatigues  and  slavery.  But 
he  whose  purpose  in  life  is  to  secure  as  many  happy 
moments  as  he  can,  and  who  sees  how  many  innocent 
pleasures  the  other  allows  to  escape  him,  would  refuse 
his  fortune  at  the  price  which  he  pays  for  it. 

Another  opulent  class  inherit  fortunes  acquired  by  the 
industry  and  sacrifices  of  their  fathers.  Rendered  ef- 
feminate in  a  school,  the  reverse  of  that  in  which  their 
fathers  were  trained,  without  resources  in  themselves, 
accustomed  from  infancy  to  have  their  least  desires  an- 
ticipated, under  the  influence  of  feeble  parents,  pliant 
and  servile  instructers,  greedy  servants  and  a  seducing 
world,  their  appetite  is  early  palled,  and  every  pleasure 
in  life  worn  out. 

But  suppose  the  rich  heir  brought  up  as  though  he 
were  not  rich,  destiny  places  before  him  a  strange  alter- 
native. If  he  succeed  in  resisting  desires  which  every- 
thing excites  and  favors,  what  painful  struggles !  If  he 
yield  to  them,  what  effort  can  preserve  him  an  untainted 
mind  ?  The  experience  of  all  time  declares  the  im- 
probability that  he  will  resist.  So  many  pretended 
friends  are  at  hand  to  take  up  the  cause  of  the  present 
against  the  future,  a  cause,  too,  which  always  finds  a 
powerful  patron  in  our  own  bosoms  !  The  pleasures  of 
the  senses  have,  besides,  this  dangerous  advantage,  that 
8 


86 


before  we  have  tasted  them  we  are  sufficiently  instruct- 
ed by  the  imagination,  that  we  shall  receive  vivid  and 
delightful  emotions  from  their  indulgence.  We  are  not 
certain  that  pleasures  of  a  higher  class  have  a  charm  of 
enchantment  until  after  we  have  made  the  happy  ex- 
periment. Thus  everything  prepares  the  opulent  for 
the  sadness  of  satiety,  moral  disgust  and  ennui  without 
end,  the  only  suffering  of  life  which  is  not  softened  by 
hope. 

You  will  sometimes  see  these  men  at  public  places 
where  they  are  professedly  in  search  of  amusement, 
giving  no  sign  of  existence  except  by  an  occasional  yawn. 
Cast  your  eyes  on  those  spectators  who  are  alive  to 
the  most  vivid  enthusiasm.  They  are  young  students 
or  mechanics  who  have  economised  ten  days  to  spend 
an  hour  of  the  eleventh  in  this  amusement  !21  It  is  in 
clean  cottages,  in  small  but  well  directed  establishments, 
that  pleasures  are  vivid,  because  they  are  obtained  at  a 
price,  and  through  industry  and  order.  A  festival  is 
projected,  or  a  holiday  returns.  Friends  are  assembled, 
and  how  blithe  and  free  is  the  joy  !  A  slight  economy 
has  been  practised  to  supply  the  moderate  expenses. 
There  is  high  pleasure  in  looking  forward  to  the  epoch 
and  in  making  the  arrangements  in  anticipation.  There 
is  still  more  pleasure  in  the  remembrance.  When  the 
interval  which  separates  us  from  pleasure  is  not  very 
long,  even  this  interval  has  charms. 

What  a  touching  narrative  is  recorded  of  the  suppers 
of  two  of  the  greatest  men  of  the  past  age,  of  whom  one 
was  the  Abbe  de  Condillac.  Both  were  so  poor  that 
the  expenses  were  reduced  to  absolute  necessaries.  But 
what  conversations  prolonged  the  repast,  and  with  what 


87 


swiftness  flew  the  enchanted  hours  !  Neither  great 
genius  nor  profound  acquirements  are  necessary  to  enjoy 
evenings  equally  pleasant. 

In  an  establishment  of  moderate  competence,  those 
who  compose  it  rarely  leave  it.  All  the  joys  which 
spring  up  in  the  bosom  of  a  beloved  family  seem  to 
have  been  created  for  them.  Give  them  riches,  without 
changing  their  hearts,  and  they  would  taste  less  pleasure. 
New  duties  and  amusements  would  trench  upon  a  part 
of  that  time  which  had  hitherto  been  sacred  to  friendship. 
More  conversant  with  society,  they  would  be  less  to- 
gether. Receiving  more  visitants,  they  would  see  fewer 
friends.  Transported  into  a  new  sphere  where  a  thou- 
sand objects  of  comparison  would  excite  their  desires, 
they  would,  perhaps,  for  the  first  time,  experience  priva- 
tlonc  nnd  regrets. 

V-VMU        —  Q 

Women  and  young  people  taste  the  advantages  which 
a  retired,  pleasant  and  modest  condition  offers  only  so 
long  as  they  avoid  comparisons  of  that  lot  with  one  which 
the  world  considers  more  favored.  We  must  carry  into 
the  world  a  high  philosophy,  or  never  quit  our  retreat. 

Persons  even  of  a  disciplined  reason,  just  thought  and 
a  noble  character,  may  grow  dizzy,  for  a  moment,  with 
the  splendor  and  noise  of  opulence,  perceived  for  the 
first  time.  But  as  soon  as  they  begin  to  blush  and  for- 
feit self-respect  in  tracing  the  causes  of  their  intoxication, 
the  scene  vanishes,  and,  as  they  contemplate  and  com- 
pare, it  is  replaced  by  the  sentiment  of  their  own  happi- 
ness. In  the  midst  of  the  brilliant  crowd  they  experi- 
ence a  legitimate  pride  in  saying, '  from  how  many  regrets 
and  cares  am  1  saved  !  How  many  futilities  are  here, 
of  which  I  have  no  need  !' 


88 

But  I  shall  be  told  that  opulence  has  at  least  this  ad- 
vantage, that  it  attracts  consideration.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  many  people  measure  the  esteem  they  pay  you  by 
the  scale  of  your  riches.  You  will  never  persuade  them 
that  merit  often  walks  on  foot,  while  stupidity  rides  in  a 
carriage. 

But  will  a  man  esteem  himself  a  philosopher,  and 
take  into  his  calculation  the  opinion  of  such  fools  as  these  ? 
In  a  circle  where  opulence  puts  forth  its  splendor,  when 
you  experience  a  slight  revulsion  of  shame  in  perceiv- 
ing that  the  simplicity  of  your  dress  is  remarked,  ask 
yourself  if  you  would  change  your  mode  of  life,  cha- 
racter and  talents  with  those  around  you  ?  If  you  feel 
that  you  would  not,  repress  the  weakness  of  wishing 
incompatible  advantages ;  and  resume  the  self-respect 
of  an  honest  man.21 

To  be  satisfied  with  a  moderate  fortune  is,  perhaps, 
the  highest  test  and  best  proof  of  philosophy.  All  others 
seem  to  me  doubtful.  He  who  can  live  content  on  a 
little,  gives  a  pledge  that  he  would  preserve  his  probity 
and  courage  in  the  most  difficult  situations.  He  has 
placed  his  virtue,  repose  and  happiness  as  far  as  possible 
above  the  caprices  of  his  kind,  and  the  vicissitudes  of 
earthly  things. 

There  are  moments  when  the  desire  of  wealth  pene- 
trates even  the  retreat  of  a  sage,  not  with  the  puerile  and 
dangerous  wish  to  dazzle  with  show,  but  with  the  hope, 
dear  to  a  good  mind,  that  it  might  become  a  means  of 
extended  usefulness.  When  Imagination  creates  her  gay 
visions,  we  sometimes  think  of  riches,  and  in  our  dreams 
make  an  employment  of  them  worthy  of  envy.  What 
a  delightful  field  then  opens  before  those  who  possess 


89 


riches  ?  They  can  encourage  the  progress  of  science, 
and  aid  in  advancing  the  glory  of  letters.  How  much 
assistance  they  can  offer  to  deserving  young  people 
whose  first  efforts  announce  happy  dispositions,  and 
whose  character,  at  the  same  time,  little  fitted  for 
worldly  success,  is  a  compound  of  independence  and 
timidity?  How  much  they  may  honor  themselves  in 
decking  the  modest  retreat  of  the  aged  scholar  who  has 
consecrated  his  life  to  study,  and  who  has  neglected  his 
personal  fortune  to  enrich  the  age  with  inventions  of 
genius  !  They  have  the  means  of  giving  a  noble  im- 
pulse to  the  arts,  without  trenching  upon  their  resources. 
A  picture,  which  perpetuates  the  remembrance  of  a 
generous  or  heroic  exploit,  costs  no  more  than  a  group 
of  bacchanalians  or  debauchees.  A  career  more  beau- 
tiful still,  is  open  to  opulence.  Of  how  many  vices  and 
how  many  tears  it  may  dry  the  source  !  A  rich  man, 
to  become  happy,  has  only  to  wish  to  become  so.  He 
can  not  only  immortalize  his  name  as  the  patron  of  arts 
and  useful  inventions,  but,  what  is  better,  can  deserve 
the  blessings  of  the  miserable.  Such  pleasures  are 
durable,  and  may  be  tasted,  with  unsated  relish,  after  a 
settled  lassitude  from  the  indulgence  of  all  others.22 

Let  not  such  seducing  dreams,  however,  leave  us  a 
prey  to  ambitious  and  disappointing  desires  at  our 
awakening.  It  is  in  the  sphere  where  Providence  has 
placed  us,  that  we  must  search  for  the  means  of  being 
useful ;  and  if  there  are  pleasures  which  belong  only  to 
opulence,  there  are  others  which  can  best  be  found  in 
mediocrity.  Perhaps,  in  giving  us  riches,  we  shall 
realize  but  half  the  dream  of  virtue  and  contentment. 
'  It  seems  to  me,'  says  Plato,  '  that  gold  and  virtue  were 
8* 


90 


placed  in  the  opposite  scales  of  a  balance  ;  and  that  we 
cannot  throw  an  additional  weight  into  one  scale,  without 
subtracting  an  equal  amount  from  the  other.' 


LETTER   XI. 

OF    OPINION    AND    THE    AFFECTION    OF    MEN. 

IN  selecting  the  same  route,  in  which  the  agitated 
crowd  is  pressing  onward,  we  are  evidently  on  the  wrong 
road  to  happiness ;  since  we  hear  the  multitude  on  every 
side  expressing  dissatisfaction  with  their  life.  If  we 
choose  a  different  path,  we  cannot  expect  to  evade  the 
shafts  of  censure,  since  the  same  multitude  are  naturally 
disposed,  from  pride  of  opinion,  to  think  all,  not  on  the 
same  road  with  themselves,  astray.  It  is,  then,  an  egre- 
gious folly  to  hope  for  a  happiness. thus  pursued  by  system, 
and  for  the  approbation  of  the  vulgar  at  the  same  time. 
Among  the  obstacles  which  are  at  war  with  our  repose, 
one  of  the  greatest,  and  at  the  same  time  most  frivolous, 
is  the  fatal  necessity  of  becoming  of  importance  to  oth- 
ers, instead  of  becoming  calmly  sufficient  to  ourselves. 
Like  restless  children,  always  seduced  by  appearances, 
it  is  a  small  point,  that  we  are  happy  in  our  condition. 
We  desire  that  it  should  excite  envy.  A  happiness 
which  glares  not  in  the  eyes  of  the  multitude,  compelling 
them  to  take  note  of  it,  is  no  longer  regarded  as  happi- 
ness. There  are  both  dupes  and  victims  of  opinion. 
Those  who  are  devoured  by  the  fever  of  intrigue,  and 


91 


those  who,  to  dazzle  others,  dissipate  their  fortune,  are  the 
miserable  victims.  The  dupes  are  those  who  volunta- 
rily weary  themselves  out  of  three  quarters  of  their  life, 
and  offer  this  as  their  apology  —  '  these  visits,  these  cere- 
monies, these  evening  parties !  they  are  tiresome,  we 
grant.  But  we  must  mix  with  good  company.' ,  Why 
not  always  mix  with  the  best  —  your  own  enlightened 
and  free  thoughts  ? 

I  shall  be  obliged  to  present  one  truth  under  a  thou- 
sand forms.  It  is  that  much  courage  is  exacted  for  the 
attainment  of  happiness.  Such  a  man  has  estimable 
qualities,  an  interesting  family,  tried  friends,  a  fortune 
equal  to  his  wants.  His  lot  ought  to  seem  a  delightful 
one.  How  differently  the  public  judge  !  '  This  man/ 
says  the  public,  '  has  intelligence.  Why  has  he  not  in- 
creased his  fortune?  He  is  able  to  distinguish  himself. 
Why  has  he  not  sought  place  or  office?  He  seems  to 
stand  aloof,  that  he  may  pique  himself  on  a  proud  and 
foolish  originality.  We  judge  him  less  favorably.  Every 
one  distinguishes  himself,  that  can.  To  be  without  dis- 
tinction is  a  proof  that  he  has  not  power  to  acquire  it.'  If 
the  man,  of  whom  this  is  said,  has  not  courage,  mourn 
over  him.  The  public  will  end,  by  rendering  him 
ashamed  of  his  happiness. 

To  hear  the  false  reasoning  of  the  multitude  is  not 
what  astonishes  me.  That  stupid  people,  full  of  self- 
esteem,  should  hold  these  foolish  discourses,  with  strong 
emphasis,  is  perfectly  natural.  What  I  wonder  at  is,  that 
their  maxims  should  guide  people  of  understanding. 

We  are  guilty  of  the  whimsical  contradiction  of 
judging  our  own  ideas  with  complacency,  and  of  pro- 
nouncing upon  those  of  others  with  severity.  Yet  we 


92 


every  day  sacrifice  principles  which  we  esteem,  through 
fear  of  being  blamed  by  people  whom  we  despise.23 

The  moment  I  escape  the  yoke  of  opinion,  what  a 
vast  and  serene  horizon  stretches  out  before  my  eyes ! 
The  pleasures  of  vanity  scatter,  like  morning  mists. 
Those  of  repose  and  independence  remain.  I  no  longer 
sacrifice  to  the  disquieting  desire  of  preserving  a  pro- 
tector, or  eclipsing  my  rivals.  I  am  no  longer  the  slave 
of  gloomy  etiquette.  I  henceforward  prolong  my  de- 
lightful evenings  for  my  own  enjoyment.  The  caprices 
of  men  have  lost  their  empire  over  me.  If  poor,  I  shall 
remain  a  stranger  to  the  pains  excited  by  blasting  ridi- 
cule and  overwhelming  contempt.  Jf  rich,  indolent  and 
impertinent  people  will  no  longer  regulate  my  expenses ; 
and  the  happy  choice  of  my  pleasures  will  multiply  my 
riches.  These  are  presented  to  a  wise  man  in  two  oppo- 
site relations.  Do.they  call  for  a  service  ?  The  most  tender 
interest  excites  him  to  their  aid.  Do  they  show  a  dis- 
position to  manage  him?  He  meets  the  attempt  only 
with  profound  disdain.  He  who  possesses  a  disciplined 
reason,  and  a  courageous  mind,  does  not  choose  to  walk 
by  the  faith  of  a  feeble  and  uncertain  guide,  who  has 
need  himself  to  be  led.  Allow  yourself  to  become  do- 
cile to  the  eccentric  laws  of  opinion,  and  the  slave  of  its 
imperious  caprices,  and  follow  it  with  the  most  earnest 
perseverance  of  loyalty ;  still  it  will  finally  terminate  in 
condemning  you. 

But  hypocrisy  opens  against  me,  and  feeble  men  ask 
me,  if  it  be  not  dangerous,  thus  to  inculcate  contempt  of 
opinion  ?  In  following  but  a  part  of  the  ideas,  which  I 
announce,  my  readers  might  be  led  astray.  The  whole 
must  be  adopted,  for  a  fair  experiment  of  the  result.  A 
physician  had  chosen  many  plants}  from  which  to  form 


93 


a  salutary  decoction.  His  patient  swallowed  the  juice 
of  but  one  and  was  poisoned. 

Let  us  discard  that  timidity,  which  conducts  to  false- 
hood ;  and,  to  subserve  morals,  let  us  be  faithful  to  truth. 
The  wicked  and  the  sage  alike  break  the  yoke  of  opin- 
ion ;  the  former  to  increase  his  power  of  annoyance ;  the 
latter  that  of  doing  good. 

lean  conceive,  that  a  depraved  man  will  commit 
fewer  faults,  in  yielding  to  the  caprices  of  opinion,  than 
in  abandoning  himself  to  his  own  errors.  There  are 
cruel  passions  and  shameful  vices,  which  he  reproves 
even  in  the  midst  of  his  aberrations.  But  in  doing  so 
he  gives  to  falsehood  the  name  of  politeness,  and  to 
cowardice  the  title  of  prudence.  His  favorite  inculca- 
tion is,  the  terror  of  ridicule.  To  form  true  men,  it 
is  indispensable,  that  this  precept  should  be  engraven  on 
their  hearts  —  Fear  nothing  but  remorse. 

The  simple  and  generous  mind,  that  follows  these  les- 
sons, and  is  worthy  of  happiness,  need  not  blush,  in 
view  of  his  course.  Only  let  him  march  on  with  un- 
shrinking courage.  In  breaking  the  yoke  of  opinion,  let 
him  fly  the  still  more  shameful  chains  which  the  passions 
impose.  In  contemning  the  prejudices  of  the  multitude 
dread  still  more  those  fatal  instructers,  who  treat  morali- 
ty as  a  popular  fable,  and  pretend  to  the  honor  of  dis- 
pelling our  errors.  The  aberrations  of  opinion  prove 
only,  that  the  most  bold,  not  the  most  virtuous,  press  for- 
ward to  announce  their  principles.  These  principles 
cannot  annihilate  that  secret  and  universal  opinion,  that 
voice  of  conscience,  without  which  the  moral  world 
would  have  presented  only  a  chaos ;  and  the  human 
race  would  have  perished.  Consult  those  men,  wlm 


94 


have  been  instructed  by  the  lessons  of  wisdom  and  expe- 
rience. Consult  those  whom  you  would  choose  to  re- 
semble. Their  first  precept  will  be,  that  you  de- 
scend into  yourself.  If  we  interrogate  conscience,  in 
good  faith,  she  will  enlighten  us.  She  makes  herself 
heard  in  the  tumult  of  our  vices,  even  against  our  will. 
If  she  become  distorted,  during  the  storm  of  our  passions, 
she  recovers  the  serenity  of  truth,  as  soon  as  that  passes 
away ;  as  a  river,  which  has  been  agitated  by  a  tempest, 
as  soon  as  calm  returns,  reflects  anew  the  verdure  of  the 
shores  and  the  azure  of  heaven. 

If  there  were  a  people  formed  by  sage  laws,  whose 
words  were  frank,  and  whose  actions  upright,  there  it 
would  be  a  duty  to  hearken  to  the  voice  of  opinion  in 
religious  silence ;  and  to  follow  its  decrees,  as  though 
they  were  those  ot  the  divinity,  fhocion  asKed,  xvKSt 
foolish  thing  he  had  done  when  the  Athenians  applaud- 
ed him  ?  Happy  the  country,  where  this  would  have 
been  a  criminal  pleasantry,  and  where  the  pages  of  that 
chapter  which  condemns  opinion  ought  to  be  torn  out. 

Perhaps  I  may  be  accused  of  contradiction,  in  saying 
that,  in  the  enlightened  pursuit  of  happiness,  the  opinion 
of  the  multitude  must  be  received  with  neglect;  and 
yet,  that  it  is  pleasant  to  be  esteemed  by  the  society,  of 
which  we  are  members.  We  receive  their  services,  and 
ought  to  know  the  pleasure  of  obliging  them.  We  often 
share  those  weaknesses,  which  we  censure  in  them. 
Our  multiplied  relations  with  them  render  their  affection 
desirable.  It  may  not  be  necessary  to  happiness ;  but  it 
gives  to  enjoyment  a  more  vivid  charm. 

May  we  be  able,  in  pursuing  the  path  indicated  by 
wisdom,  to  obtain  esteem,  and  taste  the  delight  of  a  sen- 


95 


timent  still  pleasanter,  and  more  precious.  Friendship 
is,  to  esteem,  what  the  flower  is  to  the  stem  which  sus- 
tains it. 

But  I  can  never  imagine,  that  we  ought  to  become 
subservient  to  the  caprices  of  opinion.  We  should  first 
be  satisfied  with  ourselves  ;  and  afterwards,  if  it  may  be, 
with  others.  To  merit  affection,  I  perceive  but  two 
methods  ;  to  love  our  kind,  and  to  cultivate  those  virtues 
which  diffuse  a  charm  over  life. 


LETTER    XII. 

OF    THE     SENTIMENT    MEN    OUGHT    TO    INSPIRE. 

THERE  is  no  such  being  as  a  misanthrope.  The  men 
designated  by  this  name,  may  be  divided  into  many 
classes.  In  one  class  I  see  men  of  philosophic 
minds,  revolted  by  our  vices,  or  shocked  by  our  contra- 
dictions, who  censure  these  universal  traits  with  a  blunt 
frankness.  Their  disgust  springs  from  the  evils,  which 
the  universal  follies  of  the  age  have  shed  upon  our  ca- 
reer. But  if  they  really  hated  men,  would  they  wield 
the  pen  of  satire,  in  striving  to  correct  them  ? 

Another  class  consists  of  those  unfortunate  beings,  who 
hope  to  find  peace  only  in  solitude.  They  fly  a  world 
which  has  pierced  their  heart  with  cruel  wounds  ;  and 
perhaps  avow,  in  words,  an  implacable  hatred  towards 
men.  But  their  sensibility  belies  their  avowal ;  and  we 
soothe  their  griefs,  as  soon  as  we  ask  their  services. 


96 


Finally,  there  are  those  who  strive  only  to  render  them- 
selves singular,  who  are  really  less  afflicted,  than 
whimsical ;  rather  officious  than  observing.  These  would 
tire  us  with  the  avowal  of  their  love  of  mankind,  if  they 
did  not  deem  that  they  render  themselves  more  piquant 
and  original  by  declaring  that  they  hate  them. 

We  amy  excuse  indignation  towards  prejudices, contra- 
dictions and  vices.  But  how  can  man  have  merited  ha- 
tred or  contempt  ?  Man  is  good.  Such  is  his  primitive 
character,  which  he  can  never  entirely  efface.  Good, 
but  seduced,  erring  and  unhappy,  he  has  claims  upon 
our  most  tender  interest. 

I  do  not  propose  to  vex  the  question  whether  man  is 
born  good  ?  I  consider  him  to  be  born  without  either 
virtue  or  vice.  But  as  he  advances  in  life,  nature  ar- 
ranges everything  around  him  in  such  a  manner,  as 
ought  to  render  him  good.  A  mother  is  the  first  object 
that  offers  to  his  view.  The  first  words  which  he  hears 
express  the  tenderest  affection.  Caresses  inspire  his 
first  sentiments ;  and  his  first  occupations  are  sports. 

Too  soon,  it  is  true,  very  different  objects  surround 
him.  As  he  grows  into  life,  he  is  struck  with  such  a 
general  spectacle  of  injustice,  as  reverses  his  ideas,  and 
sours  his  character.  But,  although  the  contagion  reaches 
him,  and  the  passions  and  prejudices  degrade  him,  some 
traits  of  his  primitive  goodness  will  always  remain  in  his 
heart. 

Even  those  terrible  enthusiasts,  who  thrust  themselves 
forward  in  the  effervescence  of  party,  who,  to  give  triumph 
to  their  cause,  blow  up  the  incipient  flame  of  civil  dis- 
cord, and  with  an  unshrinking  hand  raise  the  sword  of 
proscription,  these  fanatics  may  be  strangers  to  every 


S7 

humane  sentiment*  Yet  many  of  them  are  seen  to  love 
their  wives  and  children  with  tenderness,  and  to  preserve 
in  the  bosom  of  their  family,  so  to  speak,  the  germs  of 
innocence.  Robbers,  the  horror  of  society,  whom  the 
gibbet  claims,  honor  themselves  with  some  acts  of  hu- 
manity ;  and  tyrants  have  their  days  of  clemency. 

During  great  calamities,  natural  sentiments  develope 
themselves,  and  form  a  touching  contrast  with  the  scenes 
of  horror  with  which  they  are  surrounded.  When  a 
destructive  conflagration  is  sweeping  along  a  city,  there 
are  no  distinctions,  no  animosities  among  the  wretched 
sufferers,  whom  the  same  terror  pursues.  Enemies  for- 
get their  hatred,  and  partisans  their  parties.  The  rich 
and  poor  cry  out  together.  All  love  and  aid  each 
other.  Misfortune  has  broken  down  the  separating  bar- 
riers of  pride  and  prejudice,  and  they  find  each  other 
good  and  equal. 

Even  upon  the  theatre  of  war,  where  the  spectacle  of 
destruction  excites  an  appetite  to  destroy,  we  often  dis- 
cover affecting  traces  of  humanity.  At  the  siege  of 
Mentz,  in  1795,  I  remember  that  the  advanced  guards 
of  the  attack  on  the  left,  occupied  an  English  garden, 
near  the  village  of  Montback.  The  garden  was  com- 
pletely destroyed.  The  walks  and  labyrinths  were 
changed,  by  the  trampling  of  the  soldiers,  into  high 
roads.  Batteries  were  raised  upon  the  mounds,  from  dis- 
tance to  distance,  around  which  still  grew  rare  trees  and 
shrubs.  The  French  bivouacs  banished  the  verdure  of 
the  bowling  greens ;  and  in  advance  of  them,  a  half  over- 
turned kiosk  served  for  the  front  guard  of  the  Austrians. 
The  nearest  water  was  on  their  side  ;  the  nearest  wood 
on  the  side  of  the  French.  To  obtain  water,  the  French 
9 


98 


threw  their  canteens  to  the  Austrians,  who  filled  them 
and  sent  them  back  again.  When  night  drew  on,  the 
French  soldiers,  in  return,  cut  wood  for  the  Austrians, 
and  dragged  fagots  between  the  videttes  of  the  two  ar- 
mies. Thus,  waiting  the  signal  to  cut  each  other's  throat, 
the  advance  guards  lived  in  peace,  and  made  exchanges 
like  those  between  friendly  people.  This  spectacle  ex- 
cited in  me  a  profound  emotion  ;  and  I  was  scarcely  able 
to  refrain  from  tears,  in  seeing  men,  so  situated,  still 
good,  on  a  soil  red  with  blood.24 

This  primitive  goodness  is  not  the  only  beautiful  trait 
which  is  continually  developing  to  our  view  in  human  na- 
ture For  men  to  be  generous,  and  magnanimous,  the 
soul  never  entirely  loses  the  elevation,  which  it  received 
from  its  author. 

Under  oppression,  in  degradation,  hi  slavery,  men 
still  preserve  some  impress  of  their  first  dignity.  Those 
outrages  which  inflict  personal  humiliation,  are  among 
the  most  frequent  causes  of  revolutions  j  and,  perhaps 
tyrants  incur  less  danger  in  shedding  the  blood  of  citizens, 
than  in  insulting  them.  An  outrage  upon  a  woman  was 
the  signal  of  the  liberty  of  Rome.  A  similar  crime 
drew  on  the  fall  of  the  Pisistrati,  who  had  found  no  ob- 
stacle in  overturning  the  laws  of  their  country.  The 
Swiss  and  Danes  supported  the  ligors  of  a  tyrannic  yoke 
in  silence.  They  arose  the  first  day  in  which  their  op- 
pressors exacted  of  them  an  act  of  degradation.  Genoa 
had  been  conquered.  An  Austrian  officer  struck  a  man 
of  the  lower  class.  The  indignant  Genoese  flew  to  arms, 
and  drove  away  their  conquerors. 

Under  the  most  absolute  despotism,  we  sometimes 
see  the  subjects  preserving  magnanimous  sentiments  5 


99 


and  not  being  able  to  give  them  a  useful  direction,  pu 
forth,  to  serve  their  master,  a  courage  equal  to  that  with 
which  free  citizens  honor  themselves  in  serving  their 
country.     Of  this  I  might  cite  striking  proofs  from  the 
history  of  even  barbarous  nations. 

A  convincing  demonstration,  that  an  innate  principle 
of  elevation  exists  in  the  soul,  results  from  the  universal- 
ity of  religious  ideas.  Man  is  discouraged  by  his  errors? 
his  infirmities  and  faults  in  vain.  An  interior  voice  ad- 
monishes him  of  his  high  destination.  Transient  as  he 
is,  and  comparatively  lost  in  the  immensity  of  the  uni- 
verse, he  invokes  the  Divinity  to  sanctify  the  union  of  his 
"espousals,  and  to  preside  over  the  birth  of  his  infants. 
He  raises  his  voice  to  him  over  the  tombs  of  his  fathers. 
When  the  contemplation  of  the  works  of  the  Eternal  has 
inspired  him  with  humble  sentiments  of  himself,  he 
still  deems  himself  superior  to  all  the  beings  that  surround 
him.  Occupying  but  a  point  on  the  globe,  his  disquiet- 
ing thoughts  embrace  the  universe.  He  beholds  time 
devouring  the  objects  of  his  affections,  crumbling  monu- 
ments and  overturning  even  the  works  of  nature.  From 
the  midst  of  the  ruins  he  aspires  to  immortality.24 

What  would  not  these  sentiments,  at  once  elevated 
and  good,  these  precious  germs  produce,  were  they  de- 
veloped by  happy  circumstances !  That  they  exist  in 
the  human  bosom  is  a  sufficient  indication  that  we  owe 
a  tender  interest  to  the  being  who  possesses  them.  Let 
us  love  our  kind,  and  cultivate  the  virtues  which  render 
us  worthy  of  their  affection. 


100 


LETTER    XIIT. 

OF    SOME    OF    THE    VIRTUES. 

PLACED  in  the  midst  of  men,  the  most  useful  virtue  is 
indulgence.  To  allow  ourselves  to  become  severe,  is 
to  forget  how  many  good  qualities  we  want  ourselves ; 
and  from  what  faults  we  are  preserved  only  by  chance 
and  our  circumstances.  It  is  to  forget  the  weakness  of 
men,  and  the  empire  exercised  over  them  by  the  objects 
that  surround  them.  To  render  exact  justice  to  our 
kind,  we  ought  to  take  into  the  estimate  all  the  assistance 
and  all  the  obstacles,  with  which  they  have  met  in  their 
career.  Thus  weighing  them,  celebrated  actions  will 
become  less  astonishing,  and  faults  begin  to  appear  ex- 
cusable. 

By  cultivating  the  spirit  of  indulgence,  we  learn  the 
happy  secret  of  being  well  with  ourselves,  and  well  with 
men.  Some  carry  into  their  intercourse  with  the  world 
an  austere  fVankness.  They  are  dreaded,  and  the  op- 
position which  they  every  day  experience,  increases  their 
disagreeable  and  tiresome  roughness,  and  their  officious 
rudeness.  Others,  blushing  at  no  complaisance,  and 
equally  supple  and  false,  smile  at  what  displeases  them ; 
praise  what  they  feel  to  be  ridiculous ;  and  applaud  what 
they  know  to  be  vile.  Be  indulgent,  and  you  wilt  not 
sacrifice  self-esteem  ;  and  your  frankness,  far  from  an- 
noying, will  render  your  affability  more  amiable. 

The  less  we  occupy  ourselves  with  the  vices  and  ab- 
errations of  men,  the  more  pleasant  does  existence  be- 
come. Indulgence  carries  its  own  recompense  with  it, 


101 

and  causes  us  to  see  our  kind   almost  such  as  they 
should  be. 

Let  us  extend  a  courageous  indulgence  towards  those 
unfortunate  beings,  who  are  victims  of  long  continued 
errors.  Enough  will  be  ready  to  assume  the  office,  of 
their  accusers.  Let  us  draw  round  them  the  veil  of 
charity.  I  am  aware  that  gloomy  moralists  will  object 
to  these  views  ;  and  call  them  easy  principles,  that  en- 
courage the  vices,  flatter  the  passions,  and  excuse  dis- 
orders. Believe  me,  the  most  easy  and  successful 
mode  of  reclaiming  the  wandering,  is  to  carry  encour- 
agement and  hope  to  their  hearts,  and  to  have  faith  in 
their  repentance.25 

Born  in  an  age  when  every  one  professes  to  applaud 
toleration,  far  from  adopting  the  real  spirit,  we  scarcely 
know  how  to  practise  indulgence  even  towards  abstract 
opinions,  that  differ  from  our  own.  Let  us  never  forget 
the  weakness  and  error  of  our  own  judgment  and  under- 
standing ;  and  then  we  shall  possess  an  habitual  temper 
of  candor  towards  the  views  of  others.  In  most  instances, 
when^we  say  'that  man  thinks  rightly,'  the  phrase,  whe 
translated,  imports,  '  that  man  thinks  as  1  do.' 

Let  us  never  forget  that  chance  may  have  given  us 
the  opinions  most  dear  to  us.     The  ardent  patron  of  this 
party,  had  he  only  been  in  a  house  contiguous  to  his 
own,  would  have  had  opinions  and  prejudices,  the  exac 
reverse  of  those  he  now  reveres.     It  is  not  improbable 
that  he  might  have  died  in  the  opposite  ranks. 

A  particular  idea,  which  you  formerly  deemed  cor- 
rect, at  present  seems  false.     Perhaps  you  may  one  day 
return  to  your  first  judgment.     Let  us  accord,  to  our  an- 
tagonist, a  right  which  we  frequently  exercise  for  our- 
9* 


102 


selves,  the  right  to  be  deceived.  During  the  contests 
of  party,  I  have  more  than  once  seen  the  spectacle  of 
two  men  changing  their  principles  almost  at  the  same 
moment,  in  such  a  manner,  that  one  of  them  takes  the 
place  of  the  other  in  the  faction,  which,  but  a  short  time 
since,  he  professed  to  detest.  Taking  human  nature  as 
it  is,  into  view,  this  does  not  astonish  me.  What  I  find 
strange  is,  that  these  two  men  should  hate  each  other 
more  than  ever,  and  that  it  has  become  impossible  to 
reconcile  them,  now  that  the  one  has  espoused  the  opin- 
ion which  the  other  held  but  a  moment  before.26 

An  essential  truth  that  ought  to  be  constantly  an- 
nounced, is,  that  both  political  and  religious  opinions  have 
much  less  influence  than  is  commonly  imagined  upon 
the  qualities  of  the  heart.  No  verity  has  been  so  com- 
pletely demonstrated  to  my  conviction.  I  have  been 
conversant  with  men  of  all  parties.  In  every  one  I  have 
met  with  persons  full  of  disinterestedness  and  integrity. 
To  esteem  them,  it  was  only  necessary  to  remark  the 
noble  and  unshrinking  courage  with  which  they  were 
willing  to  suspend  everything  on  the  issue  of  their  con- 
victions.27 

A  crowd  of  useful  reflections  upon  this  subject  natu- 
rally offer,  upon  which  it  would  be  easy  to  enlarge. — 
The  brevity  of  my  plan  impels  me  to  other  subjects. 
There  is  one  quality,  difficult  to  define,  yet  easily  un- 
derstood, which  always  affects  us  pleasantly.  It  is  a 
quality  as  rare  as  its  effects  are  useful ;  and  yet  we  have 
scarcely  a  specific  term  in  our  language  by  which  fully 
to  designate  it.  An  obliging  disposition  is  the  common 
phrase  that  conveys  it.  Examine  all  the  pleasant  things 
of  life,  and  you  will  find  this  disposition  the  pleasantest 


103 

of  all.  There  often  remains  no  memory  of  the  benefits 
received.  Of  those  we  have  rendered,  something  is  al- 
ways retained. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  ungrateful  ?  We  are 
told  that  they  are  formidable  from  their  numbers  and 
boldness,  and  that  they  people  the  whole  earth.  How 
eccentric  and  contradictory  are  the  common  maxims  of 
the  world  !  We  admit  that  we  have  a  right  to  exact 
gratitude ;  and  yet  wish  that  benefits  should  be  for- 
gotten :  I  hold  it  wrong  to  depend  upon  gratitude, 
since  the  expectation  will  generally  be  deceived. — 
On  the  contrary,  I  approve  his  course,  who  keeps  an 
exact  account  of  his  good  actions.  In  reading  the 
record,  he  will  one1  day  taste  a  legitimate  reward.  What 
reading  can  be  so  useful  ?  To  remember  that  we  have 
done  good  in  time  past,  is  to  bind  us  to  beneficence  in 
time  to  come.  We  hear  it  continually  repeated,  that  it 
requires  a  sublime  effort  to  do  good  to  our  enemies. — 
Men  more  zealous  than  enlightened  have  advanced,  that 
the  morality  of  the  gospel  has  alone  prescribed  the  ren- 
dering of  good  for  evil.  Evangelical  duty  is  sufficiently 
elevated  by  being  founded  on  the  basis  of  higher  sanctions 
and  a  future  retribution ;  and  rests  not  its  claims  upon 
new  discoveries  of  what  is  true,  beautiful  and  obligatory 
in  morals.  They  who  advocate  that  the  grand  maxims 
of  evangelical  morality  are  found  nowhere  else  than  in 
the  gospel,  seem  to  me  to  have  committed  two  faults ; 
the  one  in  advancing  an  error,  the  other  in  tending  to  es- 
trange men  from  the  virtues  they  inculcate,  by  intimat- 
ing that  their  practice  exacts  more  than  human  power. 
A  writer  of  unquestionable  piety,  the  late  Sir  William 
Jones  found  the  grand  maxim,  '  do  unto  others  as  you 


104 


would  wish  them  to  do  unto  you,'  implied  in  the 
discourses  of  Lysias,  Thales  and  Pittacus,  and,  word  for 
word,  in  the  original  of  Confucius.  The  obligation  to 
render  good  for  evil,  he  affirms,  is  inculcated  in  the  re- 
ligious books  of  the  Hindoos  and  Arabians  ;  in  confirma- 
tion of  which  he  cites  many  passages  from  them.  The 
sentiment  of  moralists  has  everywhere  been  graven  up- 
on the  human  heart.  It  is  enough  that  our  Lord  has 
sanctioned  the  sublime  precepts  that  belong  to  our  faith 
with  immortal  recompenses  ;  and  still  more  may  we  rely 
upon  those  sanctions,  when  we  add  to  them  the  present 
pleasure  of  performing  good  actions.27 

Let  us  add,  that  in  enjoining  the  gospel  maxim  to  ren- 
der good  for  evil,  we  inculcate  elevation  of  mind,  the 
source  of  all  the  virtues.  But  Christian  moralists  have 
too  often  been  tempted  to  neutralize  or  destroy  the  effect 
of  their  precepts,  by  pushing  them  to  absurd  or  impracti- 
cable lengths.  To  practise  forgiveness,  and  to  do  good, 
are  evangelical  commands,  as  sublime  as  they  are  con- 
formable to  our  natural  views  of  duty.  To  enjoin  upon 
us  to  degrade  ourselves  in  the  estimate  of  our  enemies, 
by  feeling  and  acting  towards  them  as  though  they  were 
our  friends,  as  some  have  understood  the  bearing  of  the 
Christian  precept,  would  be  injurious  and  impracticable. 
Socrates  pardoned  his  enemies,  but  preserved  an  impos- 
ing dignity.  There  was  no  abasement  in  the  infinitely 
higher  example  of  him,  who,  suffering  on  the  cross, 
prayed  for  his  murderers. 

If  such  are  our  obligations  as  men  and  Christians  to- 
wards our  enemies,  what  duties  ought  we  not  to  fulfil  to 
those  benefactors  who  have  steadily  sought  occasions  to 
be  useful  to  us,  to  ward  off  danger  from  us,  and  to  re- 


105 


pair  our  misfortunes  ?  To  such  let  us  seek  incessant 
opportunities  of  acquitting  our  debt.  Gratitude  will 
prolong  the  pleasure  conferred  by  their  benefits. 

Indulgence,  and  the  desire  to  oblige,  seem  to  me  the 
two  principal  means  of  conciliating  to  ourselves  the  affec- 
tions of  our  kind.  A  virtue  which  at  least  commands  their 
esteem  is  integrity.  Not  only  is  he  who  practises  it,  faithful 
to  his  engagements,  since  he  allows  no  promises  of  his  to  be 
held  slight,  but  his  uprightness  makes  itself  felt  in  all  his 
actions,  and  frankness  in  all  his  conversation.  The  faults 
that  he  commits  he  is  prompt  to  acknowledge  ;  he  con- 
fesses them  without  false  shame,  and  seeks  neither  to 
exaggerate  nor  extenuate  them.  Touching  the  inter- 
ests which  are  common  to  him  and  other  people,  he  de- 
cides for  simple  justice  ;  and,  in  so  awarding,  does  not 
deem  that  he  injures  himself,  his  first  possession  being 
his  own  self-respect.  Without  rendering  me  high  ser- 
vices, he  obliges  me  in  the  lesser  charities,  and  procures 
me  one  of  the  most  vivid  pleasures  I  can  taste,  that  of 
contemplating  a  noble  character. 

Among  the  virtues  which  ought  to  secure  a  kind  regard, 
we  universally  assign  to  modesty  a  high  rank.  A  simple 
and  modest  man  lives  unknown,  until  a  moment,  which 
he  could  not  have  foreseen,  reveals  his  estimable  quali- 
ties and  his  generous  actions.  I  compare  him  to  the 
concealed  flower  springing  from  an  humble  stem,  which 
escapes  the  view,  and  is  discovered  only  by  its  perfume. 
Pride  quickly  fixes  the  eye,  and  he  who  is  always  his 
own  eulogist,  dispenses  every  other  person  from  the  ob- 
ligation to  praise  him.  A  truly  modest  man,  emerging 
from  his  transient  obscurity,  will  obtain  those  delightful 
praises  which  the  heart  awards  without  effort.  His  su-» 


106 


periority,  far  from  being  importunate,  will  become  at- 
tractive. Modesty  gives  to  talents  and  virtues  the  same 
charm  which  chastity  adds  to  beauty. 

Let  us  carry  into  the  world  neither  curiosity  nor  in- 
discretion. Curiosity  is  the  defect  of  a  little  mind,  which, 
not  knowing  how  to  employ  itself  at  home,  feels  the  ne- 
cessity of  being  amused  with  the  occupations  of  others. 
In  relation  to  minute  objects  it  is  ridiculous.  In  impor- 
tant affairs  it  becomes  odious.  Let  us  know  nothing 
about  those  debates,  piques  and  parties,  which  it  is  not 
in  our  power  to  settle. 

An  attribute  so  precious,  that,  in  my  eye,  it  becomes 
a  virtue,  is  a  gentle  and  constant  equality  of  temper. — 
To  sustain  it,  not  only  exacts  a  pure  mind,  but  a  vigor 
of  understanding  which  resists  the  petty  vexations  and 
fleeting  contrarieties  which  a  multitude  of  objects  and 
events  are  continually  bringing.  What  an  unalterable 
charm  does  it  give  to  the  society  of  the  man  who  possesses 
it !  How  is  it  possible  to  avoid  loving  him  whom  we  are 
certain  always  to  find  with  serenity  on  his  brow  and  a 
smile  in  his  countenance  ? 

I  foresee  that  our  brilliant  observers,  as  they  run  over 
these  precepts,  will  say  to  me,  '  you  resemble  those  phi- 
losophers who  trace  the  plan  of  a  republic,  without  tak- 
ing into  the  account  the  passions  of  men  or  the  state  of 
society  ;  a  thousand  times  more  unreasonable,  than  those 
writers  of  romance  who  publish  their  dreams  as  dreams. 
Your  maxims  upon  indulgence  will  only  awaken  for  you 
the  pity  due  to  good  natured  weakness.  The  maxim 
of  the  world  is,  be  adroit  to  seize  upon  defects,  and 
prompt  to  censure  the  weaknesses  of  men,  that  you  may 
intimidate  those  who  can  only  serve  to  annoy  you  ;  and 


107 

give  up  to  ridicule  those  who  can  only  amuse  you.  Make 
a  display  of  your  desire  to  oblige.  Pronounce  senti- 
mental phrases  with  grace.  Make  dupes  if  you  can  ;  but 
take  care  that  you  do  not  become  one  yourself,  by  having 
your  own  maxims  practised  upon  you.  Credit  is  not  rev- 
enue, but  a  sum  which  becomes  exhausted  in  propor- 
tion as  you  spend  upon  it,  without  replacing  it.  Ought 
I  to  be  modest  when  so  many  examples  prove  that  tal- 
ents are  a  small  thing,  if  there  be  not  subjoined  the 
happy  talent  of  making  them  known.  The  man  who 
speaks  of  himself  with  modesty  is  believed  upon  his 
word ;  and  when  I  search  for  the  causes  of  that  admira- 
tion which  certain  personages  have  obtained,  I  can  dis- 
cover no  other  than  the  long  obstinacy  and  persevering 
intrepidity  which  they  have  put  in  requisition  to  praise 
themselves.  There  are  eulogies  which  men  give  them- 
selves, of  which,  as  of  the  calumnies  that  they  wipe  out, 
some  traces  will  always  remain.  Finally,  opinion  alone 
renders  our  qualities  estimable  ;  and  he  who,  with  a  view 
to  succeed,  should  immediately  cultivate  the  tawdry  vir- 
tues which  you  celebrate,  would  be  as  ridiculous  as  he 
who  should  appear  in  society  in  the  costume  worn  a  cen- 
tury ago.'  They  who  say  this  are  as  right,  in  their  views, 
as  I  am  in  mine.  If  the  interest  with  which  our  kind  in- 
spires us,  if  our  virtues  cannot  shield  us  from  injustice,  let 
us  hold  ourselves  aloof  from  opinion,  and  while  we  allow 
the  multitude  their  way  of  thinking,  let  it  not  disturb  our 
repose.  Among  the  circumstances  essential  to  felicity,  I 
count  the  attachment  of  some  individuals,  but  not  pop- 
ularity. 


108 


LETTER    XIV. 

OF    MARRIAGE. 

SINCE  we  cannot  assure  ourselves  of  the  general  affec- 
lion,  nor  even  of  the  justice  of  men,  it  becomes  our  interest, 
in  the  midst  of  the  great  mass,  that  we  cannot  move,  to 
create  a  little  world,  which  we  can  arrange  at  the  dispo- 
sal of  our  reason  and  affections. 

In  this  retreat,  dictated  to  us  alike  by  our  instincts 
and  our  hearts,  let  us  forget  the  chimeras  which  the 
crowd  pursue  ;  and  if  the  men  of  fashion  and  the  world 
stare,  ridicule,  and  even  condemn  us,  let  their  murmurs 
sound  in  our  ears  as  the  dashing  of  the  waves  on  the 
distant  shore,  to  the  stranger,  under  the  hospitable  roof 
which  shelters  him  from  the  storm. 

The  universe  of  reason  and  affection  must  be  com- 
posed of  a  single  family.  Of  that  universe  a  wedded 
pair  must  be  the  centre.  A  wife  is  the  best  and  the  on- 
ly disinterested  friend,  by  the  award  of  nature.  She  re- 
mains such,  when  fortune  has  scattered  all  others.  How 
many  have  been  recalled  to  hope  by  a  virtuous  and  af- 
fectionate wife,  when  all  beside  had  been  lost !  How 
many,  retrieved  from  utter  despondency,  have  felt  ia  an 
ineffable  effusion  of  heart,  that  conjugal  heroism  and  con- 
stancy were  an  ample  indemnity  for  the  deprivation  of  all 
other  good  things  !  How  many,  undeceived  by  external 
illusions,  have  in  this  way  been  brought  home  to  their 
real  good  !  If  we  wish  to  see  the  attributes  of  conjugal 
heroism,  in  their  purest  brilliancy,  let  us  suppose  the  hus- 
band in  the  last  degree  of  wretchedness.  Let  us  im- 


109 


agine  him  not  only  culpable,  but  so  estimated,  and  an 
outcast  from  society.  Repentance  itself,  in  the  view  of 
candor,  has  not  been  available  to  cloak  his  faults.  She 
alone,  accusing  him  not,  is  only  prodigal  of  conso- 
lations. Embracing  duties  as  severe  as  his  reverses, 
she  voluntarily  shares  his  captivity  or  exile.  He 
finds  still,  on  the  faithful  bosom  of  innocence,  a  re- 
fuge, where  remorse  becomes  appeased ;  as  in  for- 
mer days,  the  proscribed  found,  at  the  foot  of  the 
altar,  an  asylum  against  the  fury  of  men. 

Marriage  is  generally  assumed  as  a  means  of  increas- 
ing credit  and  fortune,  and  of  assuring  success  in  the 
world.  It  should  be  undertaken  as  a  chief  element  of 
happiness,  in  the  retirement  of  domestic  repose.28  I 
would  wish  that  my  disciple,  while  still  in  the  freshness 
of  youth,  might  have  reason  and  experience  enough  to 
select  the  beloved  person,  whom  he  would  desire  one 
day  to  espouse.  I  would  hope,  that,  captivated  with 
her  dawning  qualities,  and  earnestly  seeking  her  hap- 
piness, he  might  win  her  tenderness,  and  find  his  satis- 
faction in  training  her  to  a  conformity  to  his  tastes,  habits 
and  character. 

The  freshness  of  her  docile  nature  demands  his  first 
forming  cares.  As  she  advances  in  life  she  is  moulded 
to  happy  changes,  adapted  to  supply  his  defects.  She 
is  reared  modest,  amiable,  instructed,  respectable,  and 
respected  ;  one  day  to  govern  his  family,  and  direct 
his  house,  by  diffusing  around  the  domestic  domain, 
order  and  peace.  Let  neither  romances,  metaphysics, 
pedantry  nor  fashion  render  a  qualification  for  these  im- 
portant duties,  either  trifling  or  vulgar  in  her  view.  Still, 
domestic  duties  are  by  no  means  to  occupy  all  her 
10 


110 


hours.  The  time  which  is  not  devoted  to  them  will  flow 
quietly  on  in  friendly  circles,  not  numerous,  but  anima- 
ted by  gayety,  friendship  and  the  inexplicable  pleasures 
which  spring  from  intercourse  with  rational  society. 
There  are,  also,  more  unimportant  duties,  which  we 
expect  her  not  to  neglect.  We  wish  her  to  occupy  some 
moments  at  a  toilet ;  where  simplicity  should  be  the  basis 
of  elegance;  and  where  native  tact  might  develope 
the  graces,  and  vary,  and  multiply,  if  I  may  so  say,  the 
forms  of  her  beauty.  In  fine,  the  versatility  of  her 
modes  of  rendering  herself  agreeable,  should  increase 
the  chances  of  always  escaping  ennui  in  her  presence. 

But  train  women  to  visit  a  library  as  savans,  and  they 
will  be  likely  to  bring  from  it  pedantry  without  solid  in- 
struction ;  and  coquetry  without  feminine  amiability. 
I  would  not  be  understood  to  question  the  capability  of 
the  female  understanding.  I  am  not  sure  that  1  would 
Wish  the  wife  of  my  friend  to  have  been  an  author, 
though  some  of  the  most  amiable  and  enlightened  wo- 
men have  been  such.  But  I  deem  that  in  their  men- 
tal constitution,  and  in  the  assignment  of  their  lot,  pro- 
vidence has  designated  them  to  prefer  the  graces  to 
erudition;  and  that  to  acquire  a  wreath  of  laurels,  they 
must  ordinarily  relinquish  their  native  crown  of  roses.28 

When  we  see  a  husband  and  wife  thus  united  by 
tenderness,  good  hearts  and  simple  tastes,  everything 
presages  for  them  a  delightful  futurity.  Let  them  live 
contented  in  their  retirement.  Instead  of  wishing  to 
blazon,  let  them  conceal  their  happiness,  and  exist  for 
each  other.  Life  will  become  to  them  the  happiest  of 
dreams. 

Perhaps  the  world  will  say,  '  you  speak,  it  may  be,  of 


Ill 


such  a  wife  as  you  would  be  understood  to  possess 
yourself.  But  you  do  not  paint  marriage  in  the  ab- 
stract, while  you  thus  describe  happiness  as  finding  a 
habitation  within  the  domestic  walls,  and  pain  and  sor- 
row without :  how  many  people  find  eternal  ennui  at 
home,  and  respire  pleasure,  only  when  they  have  fled 
their  own  threshold.'  There  are  few  wives  so  perfect, 
says  La  Bruyere,  '  as  to  hinder  their  husbands  from  re- 
penting at  least  once  in  a  day,  that  they  have  a  wife ;  or 
from  envying  the  happiness  of  him  who  has  none.' 

This  sentence,  instead  of  containing  a  just  observation, 
is  only  an  epigram.  In  looking  round  a  circle  of  indi- 
viduals, ridiculously  called  the  world,  we  shall  find  happy 
family  establishments  less  rare  than  we  imagine.  Be- 
sides, it  would  be  absurd  to  count  among  unhappy  unions, 
all  those  which  are  not  wholly  exempt  from  stormy  pas- 
sions. Not  only  is  perfect  felicity  a  chimerical  expecta- 
tion on  the  earth,  but  we  meet  with  many  people  who 
would  be  fatigued  into  ennui  in  a  perfect  calm,  and  who 
require  a  little  of  the  spice  of  contrariety  to  season  the 
repast  of  life.  I  would  not  covet  their  taste  ;  but  there 
are  modes  of  being  singular,  which,  withont  imparting 
happiness,  procure  pleasures.  Finally,  supposing  the 
number  of  unhappy  marriages  to  be  as  immense  as  is 
contended,  what  is  the  conclusion?  Theugreat  ma- 
jority adopting,  as  maxims  of  life,  principles  so  different 
from  mine,  it  would  be  strange  if  they  obtained  such 
results  as  I  desire.29 

In  these  days,  the  deciding  motive  with  parents,  in 
relation  to  marriage,  is  interest ;  and,  what  seems  to  me 
revolting  in  the  spirit  of  the  age,  is,  that  the  young  have 
also  learned  to  calculate.  When  a  man  marries  simply 


112 

on  a  speculation  of  interest,  if  he  sees  his  fortune  and 
distinction  secured,  reign  disorder  and  alienation  in  his 
house  as  they  may,  he  is  still  happier  than  he  deserves 
to  be. 

Our  marriages  of  inclination  guaranty  happiness  no 
more  than  our  marriages  of  interest.  What  results 
should  be  anticipated  from  the  blind  impulse  of  appetite  ? 
Let  there  be  mutual  affection,  such  as  reason  can  survey 
with  a  calm  and  severe  scrutiny.  Such  love  as  is  painted 
in  romances  is  but  a  fatal  fever.  It  is  children  alone 
who  believe  themselves  in  love,  only  when  they  feel 
themselves  in  a  delirium.  They  have  imagined  that 
life  should  be  a  continual  ecstasy ;  and  these  indulged 
dreams  of  anticipation  spoil  the  reality  of  wedded  life. 
I  have  supposed  the  husband  older  than  his  wife.  I  have 
imagined  him  forming  the  character  of  his  young,  fair 
and  docile  companion  ;  and  that,  so  to  speak,  they  have 
become  assimilated  to  each  other's  tastes  and  habits. 
The  right  combination  of  reason  and  love  assures  for 
them,  under  such  circumstances,  as  much  as  possible, 
a  futurity  of  happiness. 

I  might  here  speak  of  the  misery  of  jealousy  and  in- 
fidelity, and  the  comparative  guilt  of  these  vices  in  the 
husband  and  the  wife.  But  these  are  sources  of  torment 
only  in  unions  contracted  and  sustained  by  the  maxims 
and  the  spirit  of  the  world.  According  to  my  views 
these  crimes  could  not  mar  the  marriages  which  were 
undertaken  from  right  motives,  and  under  the  approving 
sanction  of  severe  reason.  I,  therefore,  pass  them  by, 
as  not  belonging  to  my  subject ;  and  as  supposing  that 
when  marriage  is  the  result  of  wise  foresight  and  regu- 
lated choice,  and  when  its  duties  are  discharged  from  a 


113 


proper   sense   of  their  obligation,  such  faults  can  not 
occur. 

Another  cause  of  disunion  springs  from  the  proud 
temper  of  some  wives.  They  erroneously  and  obstinately 
persuade  themselves  that  fidelity  includes  all  their  duty. 
More  than  one  husband,  incessantly  tormented  by  an 
imperious  and  capricious  wife,  feels  almost  disposed  to 
envy  the  gentle  spouse  who  sleeps  pleasantly  under  de- 
ceitful caresses.  As  much  as  an  honest  man  ought  to 
avoid  crimes,  in  order  to  merit  his  reputation  and  sustain 
it,  ought  the  highest  meed  awarded  to  women  to  be  be- 
stowed, not  on  those  alone  who  are  chaste,  but  on  those 
who  know  how  to  watch  over  the  happiness  of  their 
family  by  eager  attentions  and  studious  cares. 

This  petulance  of  temper  is  commonly  supposed  to  be 
a  conjoined  attribute  of  conjugal  fidelity.  I  have  some- 
times seen  wives  both  peevish  and  coquettish,  and  I  can- 
not imagine  a  more  odious  combination.  If  we  despise 
the  man  who  is  rough  and  slovenly  at  home,  and  be- 
comes charming  in  society,  what  sentiment  does  that 
wife  merit  who  wears  out  her  husband's  patience  with 
her  arrogance,  and  puts  on  seducing  graces,  and  affects 
sensibility,  in  the  presence  of  strangers  ? 

T  have  often  heard  men  who  were  sensible  upon  every 
other  subject,  express  their  conviction  that  the  orientals, 
in  excluding  their  women  from  all  eyes  but  their  own, 
had  established  the  only  reasonable  domestic  policy. 
There  is  no  more  wit  than  humanity  in  this  barbarous 
sentiment,  however  frequently  it  is  uttered»  No  one 
could  be  in  earnest,  in  wishing  to  copy,  into  free  institu- 
tions, this  appalling  ve-tige  of  slavery..  But  my  inward 
respect  for  women  withholds  me  from  flattering  theou 
10* 


114 

Authority  ought  to  belong  to  the  husband ;  and  the  in- 
fluence of  tenderness,  graces  and  the  charms  of  con- 
stancy, gentleness  and  truth,  constituting  the  appropriate 
female  empire,  belongs  of  right  to  the  wife.  I  take 
leave  to  illustrate  this  phrase.  Masculine  vigor,  and 
aptitude  to  contend  and  resist,  clearly  indicate  that  na- 
ture has  confided  authority  to  man.  To  dispossess  him 
of  it,  and  control  him  by  a  still  more  irresistible  sway, 
it  is  necessary  that  the  feeble  sex  should  learn  patience, 
docility,  passive  courage,  and  the  management  of  their 
appropriate  weapons  in  danger  and  sorrow,  and  to  be- 
come energetic  for  the  endurance  of  the  peaceful  cares 
of  the  domestic  establishment.  Man  is  formed  by  nature 
for  the  calls  of  active  courage ;  and  woman,  for  the 
appalling  scenes  of  pain  and  affliction,  and  the  agony  of 
the  sick  and  dying  bed.  In  a  word,  all  argument  apart, 
nature  has  clearly  demonstrated  to  which  sex  authority 
belongs. 

I  discover  that  the  defects  of  man  spring  from  the 
tendency  of  his  natural  traits,  in  which  force  predomi- 
nates, to  run  to  excess.  I  see  his  gentle  companion 
endowed  with  attributes  and  qualities  naturally  tending 
to  temper  his  defects.  The  means  she  has  received  to 
reach  this  end  announce  that  it  is  the  purpose  of  nature 
that  she  should  use  them  with  this  view.  She  has 
charms  which,  when  rightly  applied,  none  can  resist. 
Her  character  is  a  happy  compound  of  sensibility,  wis- 
dom and  levity.  She  has  superadded  a  felicity  of  ad- 
dress which  she  owes  to  her  organization,  and  which 
the  reserve,  that  her  education  imposes,  serves  to  de- 
velope.  Thus  the  qualities,  and  even  the  imperfections 
of  the  two  sexes  serve  to  bring  them  together.  It  fol- 


115 


lows,  that  man  should  possess  authority,  and  woman 
influence,  for  their  mutual  happiness. 

When  the  wife  commands,  I  cease  to  behold  a  respect- 
able married  pair.  I  see  a  ridiculous  tyrant,  and  a  still 
more  ridiculous  slave.  It  is  vain  to  urge  that  she  may 
be  most  capable  of  authority,  and  that  her  orders  may 
be  conformable  to  wisdom  and  justice.  They  are  ab- 
surd, from  the  very  circumstance  that  they  are  orders. 
The  virtues  which  the  husband  ought  to  practise  to- 
wards his  wife  must  have  their  origin  in  love,  which  can 
only  be  inspired,  and  which  flies  all  restraint.  In  a 
single  position,  the  wife  honors  herself  in  assuming  au- 
thority. It  is  when  reverses  have  overwhelmed  and 
desolated  her  husband,  so  that,  ceasing  to  sustain  her 
and  changing  the  natural  order,  she  supports  him. 
Grant  that  he  receives  hope  as  her  gift ;  grant  that  he  is 
compelled  to  blush  in  imitating  her  example  of  courage; 
she  aspires  to  this  power  no  longer  than  to  be  able  to  re- 
store him  to  the  place  whence  misery  had  cast  him  down.30 

It  is  a  truth  that  ought  not  to  be  contested,  that  dis- 
satisfied husbands  and  wives  often  love  each  other  more 
than  they  imagine.  Suppose  them  to  believe  them- 
selves indifferent ;  and  to  seem  so ;  and  even  on  the 
verge  of  mutual  hate ;  should  one  of  them  fall  sick,  we 
see  the  other  inspired  with  sincere  alarms.  Suppose 
them  on  the  eve  of  separation ;  when  the  fatal  moment 
comes,  both  recoil  from  the  act.  Habit  almost  causes 
the  pains,  to  which  we  have  been  long  accustomed,  to 
become  cause  of  regret  when  they  cease.  When  the 
two  begin  mutually  to  complain  of  their  destiny,  I  coun- 
sel each,  instead  of  wishing  to  criminate  and  correct 
each  other,  to  give  each  other  an  example  of  mutual 
forbearance  and  indulgence.  It  may  be,  that  the  cause 


116 


of  their  mutual  dissatisfaction  is  unreal ;  the  supposed 
wrong  not  intended,  the  suspicion  false.  Candor  and 
forgiveness  will  appease  all.  The  husband  may  have 
gone  astray  only  in  thought ;  which  is  beyond  human 
privilege  to  fathom.  The  wife  may  have  minor  de- 
fects and  an  unequal  temper,  without  forfeiting  much 
excellence  and  many  remaining  claims  to  be  loved. 
The  morbid  influence  of  ill  health  and  irresistible  tem- 
perament, in  their  powerful  action  upon  the  temper, 
may  have  been  the  source  whence  the  faults  flowed 
on  either  part ;  and  the  mutual  wrongs  may  thus 
have  been,  in  some  sense,  independent  of  the  will 
of  the  parties.  Bound,  as  they  are,  in  such  intimate 
and  almost  indissoluble  relations,  before  they  give  that 
happiness,  which  they  hoped  and  promised,  to  the  winds, 
let  them  exhaust  their  efforts  of  self-command  and  mu- 
tual indulgence,  to  bring  back  deep  and  true  affection. 

The  purest  happiness  of  earth  is,  unquestionably,  the 
portion  of  two  beings  wisely  and  fitly  united  in  the  bonds 
of  indissoluble  confidence  and  affection.  What  a  touch- 
ing picture  does  Madame  de  Stael  present  in  these  lines  : 
'I  saw,  during  my  sojourn  in  England,  a  man  of  the 
highest  merit  united  to  a  wife  worthy  of  him.  One  day, 
as  we  were  walking  together,  we  met  some  of  those 
people  that  the  English  call  gipseys,  who  generally  wan- 
der about  in  the  woods  in  the  most  deplorable  condition. 
I  expressed  pity  for  them  thus  enduring  the  union  of  all 
the  physical  evils  of  nature.  "  Had  it  been  necessary," 
said  the  affectionate  husband,  pointing  to  his  wife,  "in 
order  to  spend  my  life  with  her,  that  I  should  have 
passed  thirty  years  in  begging  with  them,  we  would  still 
have  been  happy."  "  Yes,"  responded  the  wife,  "  the 
happiest  of  beings." ' 


117 


LETTER    XV. 

CHILDREN. 

ONE  of  the  happiest  days,  and,  perhaps,  the  most 
beautiful  of  life,  is  when  the  birth  of  a  child  opens  the 
heart  of  the  parent  to  emotions,  as  yet,  unknown.31  Yet 
what  torments  are  prepared  by  this  epoch !  What  pain- 
ful anxiety,  what  agonies  their  sufferings  excite  !  What 
terror,  when  we  fear  for  their  infant  life  !  These  alarms 
terminate  not  with  their  early  age.  The  inquietude  with 
which  their  parents  watch  over  their  destiny  fills  every 
period  of  their  life  to  their  last  sigh. 

The  compensating  satisfaction  which  they  bring  must 
be  very  vivid,  since  it  counterbalances  so  many  suffer- 
ings. In  order  to  love  them,  we  have  no  need  to  be 
convinced  that  they  will  respond  to  our  cares,  and  one 
day  repay  them.  If  there  be  in  the  human  heart  one 
disinterested  sentiment,  it  is  parental  love.  Our  tender- 
ness for  our  children  is  independent  of  reflection.  We 
love  them  because  they  are  our  children.  Their  existence 
makes  a  part  of  ours ;  or,  rather,  is  more  than  ours. 
All  that  is  either  useful  or  pleasant  to  them,  brings  us  a 
pure  happiness,  springing  from  their  health,  their  gayety, 
their  amusements. 

The  chief  end  which  we  ought  to  propose  to  ourselves, 
in  rearing  them,  is  to  train  and  dispose  them  so  that 
they  may  wisely  enjoy  that  existence  which  is  accorded 
them.  Of  all  the  happy  influences  which  can  be  brought 
to  bear  upon  their  mind  and  manners,  none  is  more 


118 


beneficial  than  the  example  of  parental  gentleness.  The 
good  Plutarch  most  eloquently  advanced  this  doctrine 
in  ancient  time.  Montaigne,  Rousseau,  M'Kenzie,  and 
various  writers  of  minor  fame  among  the  moderns,  have 
reproduced  his  ideas,  and,  by  their  authority,  have  finally 
effected  a  happy  revolution  in  education.  I  delight  to 
trace  the  most  important  ideas  thus  reproduced  by  en- 
lightened and  noble  minds  in  different  ages.  It  is  chiefly 
by  persevering  in  the  system  of  the  influence  of  gentle- 
ness that  we  may  expect  an  ultimate  melioration  in  the 
human  character  and  condition. 

But  scarcely  has  any  such  salutary  change  been  ef- 
fected, before  minds,  either  superficial  or  soured,  see 
only  the  inconveniences  which  accompany  it ;  and,  in- 
stead of  evading  or  correcting  them,  would  return  to  the 
point  whence  they  started.  We  hear  people  regretting 
the  decline  of  the  severity  of  ancient  education ;  and 
maintaining  the  wisdom  of  those  contrarieties  and  vexa- 
tions which  children  used  to  experience ;  '  a  fitting  disci- 
pline of  preparation,'  say  they,  '  to  prepare  them  for  the 
sorrows  of  life.'  Would  they,  on  the  same  principle,  inflict 
bruises  and  contusions,  to  train  them  to  the  right  endu- 
rance of  those  that  carelessness  or  accident  might  bring? 
'  It  is  an  advantage,'  say  they,  '  to  put  them  to  an  ap- 
prenticeship of  pain  at  the  period  when  the  sorrow  it 
inflicts  is  light  and  transient.'  This  mode  of  speaking, 
with  many  others  of  similar  import,  presents  a  combina- 
tion of  much  error  with  some  truth. 

The  sufferings  of  childhood  seem  to  us  trifling  and 
easy  to  endure,  because  time  has  interposed  distance 
between  them  and  us ;  and  we  have  no  fear  of  ever 
meeting  them  again.  It  does  not  cease  to  be  a  fact, 


119 


that  the  child  that  passes  a  year  under  the  discipline  of 
the  ferule  of  a  severe  master,  is  as  unhappy  as  a  man 
deprived  a  year  of  his  liberty.  The  latter,  in  truth,  has 
less  reason  to  complain  ;  since  he  ought  to  find,  in  the 
discipline  of  his  reason,  and  his  maturity  and  force  of 
character,  more  powerful  motives  for  patient  endurance. 
Parents  !  Providence  has  placed  the  destiny  of  your 
children  in  your  hands.  When  you  thus  sacrifice  the 
present  to  an  uncertain  future,  you  ought  to  have  strong 
proof  that  you  will  put  at  their  disposal  the  means  of 
indemnification.  If  the  sacrifice  of  the  present  to  the 
future  were  indispensable,  I  would  not  dissuade  from  it. 
But  my  conviction  is,  that  the  best  means  of  preparing 
them  for  the  future  may  be  found  in  rendering  them  as 
happy  as  possible  for  the  present.  If  it  should  be  your 
severe  trial  to  be  deprived  of  them  in  their  early  days, 
you  will,  at  least,  have  the  consolation  of  being  able  to 
say,  '  I  have  rendered  them  happy  during  the  short  time 
they  were  confided  to  me.'  Strive  then,  by  gentleness, 
guided  by  wisdom  and  authority,  to  cast  the  sunshine  of 
enjoyment  upon  the  necessary  toils  and  studies  of  the 
morning  of  their  existence. 

It  is  the  stern  award  of  nature  to  bring  them  sorrows. 
Our  task  is  to  soothe  them.  I  feel  an  interest  when  I 
see  the  child  regret  the  trinket  it  has  broken,  or  the  bird 
it  has  reared.  .Nature  in  this  way,  gives  them  the  first 
lessons  of  pain,  and  strengthens  them  to  sustain  the  more 
bitter  losses  of  maturer  days.  Let  us  prudently  second 
the  efforts  of  nature  ;  and  to  console  the  weeping  child, 
let  us  not  attempt  to  change  the  course  of  these  fugitive 
ideas,  nor  to  efface  the  vexation  by  a  pleasure.  In  un- 
avoidable suffering  let  the  dawning  courage  and  reason 


120 


find  strength  for  endurance.  Let  us  first  share  the  re- 
grets, and  gently  bring  the  sufferer  to  feel  the  inutility  of 
tears.  Let  us  accustom  him  not  to  throw  away  his 
strength  in  useless  efforts ;  and  let  us  form  his  mind  to 
bear  without  a  murmur  the  yoke  of  necessity.  These 
maxims,  I  am  aware,  are  directly  against  the  spirit  of 
modern  education,  which  is  almost  entirely  directed  to- 
wards the  views  of  ambition. 

But  while  I  earnestly  inculcate  gentleness  in  parental 
discipline,  I  would  not  confound  it  with  weakness.  I 
disapprove  that  familiarity  between  parents  and  children 
which  is  unfavorable  to  subordination.  Fashion  is  like- 
ly to  introduce  an  injurious  equality  into  this  relation. 
I  see  the  progress  of  this,  dangerous  effeminacy  with  re- 
gret. The  dress  and  expenditures  which  would  former- 
ly have  supplied  ten  children,  scarcely  satisfy  at  present 
the  caprices  of  one.  This  foolish  complaisance  of  pa- 
rents prepares,  for  the  future  husbands  and  wives,  a  task 
most  difficult  to  fulfil.  Let  us  not,  by  anticipating  and 
preventing  the  wishes  of  children,  teach  (hem  to  be  in- 
dolent in  searching  for  their  own  pleasures.  Their  age 
is  fertile  in  this  species  of  invention.  That  they  may 
be  successful  in  seizing  enjoyment,  little  more  is  requi- 
site to  be  performed  on  our  part  than  to  •  break  tfyeir 
chains. 

There  are  two  fruitful  sources  of  torments  for  child- 
ren. One  is,  what  the  present  day  denominates  polite- 
ness. It  is  revolting  to  me  to  see  children  early  trained 
to  forego  their  delightful  frankness  and  simplicity,  and 
learning  artificial  manners.  We  wish  them  to  become 
little  personages;  and  we  compel  them  to  receive  tire- 
some compliments,  and  to  repeat  insignificant  formulas 


121 


of  common-place  flattery.  In  this  way,  politeness,  des- 
tined to  impart  amenity  to  life,  becomes  a  source  of 
vexation  and  restraint.  It  would  seem  as  if  we  thought 
it  so  important  a  matter  to  teach  the  usages  of  society,  that 
they  could  never  be  known  unless  the  study  were  com- 
menced in  infancy.  Besides,  do  we  flatter  ourselves, 
that  we  shall  be  able  to  teach  children  the  modes  and 
the  vocabulary  of  politeness,  without  initiating  them,  at 
the  same  time,  in  the  rudiments  of  falsehood  ?  They 
are  compelled  to  see  that  we  consider  it  a  trifle.  If  we 
wish  them  to  become  flatterers  and  dishonest,  I  ask 
what  more  efficient  method  we  could  take  ? 

Labor  is  the  second  source  of  their  sufferings.  I 
would  by  no  means  be  understood  to  dissuade  from  the 
assiduous  cultivation  of  habits  of  industry.  You  may 
enable  children  to  remove  mountains,  if  you  will  contrive 
to  render  their  tasks  a  matter  of  amusement  and  inter- 
est. The  extreme  curiosity  of  children  announces  an 
instinctive  desire  for  instruction.  But  instead  of  profit- 
ing by  it,  we  adopt  measures  which  tend  to  stifle  it.  We 
render  their  studies  tiresome,  and  then  say  that  the  young 
naturally  tire  of  study.32 

When  the  parent  is  sufficiently  enlightened  to  rear  his 
child  himself,  instead  of  plying  him  with  rudimental 
books,  dictionaries  and  restraint,  let  him  impart  the  first 
instructions  by  familiar  conversation.  Ideas  advanced 
in  this  way  are  accommodated  to  the  comprehension  of 
the  pupil,  by  mutual  good  feeling  rendered  attractive, 
and  brought  directly  within  the  embrace  of  his  mind. 
This  instruction  leads  him  to  observe,  and  accustoms 
him  to  compare,  reflect  and  discriminate,  offers  the 
sciences  under  interesting  associations,  and  inspires 
11 


122 

a  natural  thirst  for  instruction.     Of  all  results  which  ed- 
ucation can  produce,  this  is  the  most  useful.     A  youth 
of  fifteen,  trained  in  this  way,  will  come  into  possession 
of  more  truths,  mixed  with  fewer  errors,  than  much 
older  persons  reared  in  the  common  way.     He  will  be 
distinguished  by  the  early  maturity  of  his  reason,  and  by 
his  eagerness  to  cultivate  the  sciences,  which,  instead  of 
producing  fatigue  or  disgust,  will  every  day  give  birth  to 
new  ideas  and  new  pleasures.     I  am  nevertheless  litde 
surprised,  that  the  scrupulous  advocates  of  the  existing 
routine  should  insist  that  such  a  method  tends  to  form 
superficial  thinkers.     I  can  only  say  to  these  profound 
panegyrists  of  the  present  order  of  instruction,  that  the 
method  which  I  recommend,  was  that  of  the  Greeks. — 
Their  philosophers  taught  while  walking  in  the  shade  of 
the  portico  or  of  trees,  and  were  ignorant  of  the  art  of 
rendering  study  tiresome,  and  not  disposed  to  throw 
over  it  the  benefits  of  constraint.     Modern  instructers 
ought,  therefore,  to  find  that  they  were  shallow  reason- 
ers,  and  that  their  poets  and  artists  could  have  produc- 
ed only  crude  and  unfinished  efforts.33 

Besides,  this  part  of  education  is  of  trifling  impor- 
tance, compared  with  the  paramount  obligation  to  give 
the  pupil  robust  health,  pure  morals,  and  an  energet- 
ic mind.  I  deeply  regret  that  the  despotic  empire  of 
opinion  is  more  powerful  than  paternal  love.  Instead  of 
gravely  teaching  to  your  son  the  little  arts  of  shining  in 
the  world,  have  the  courage  to  say  to  him, '  oblige  those 
of  thy  kind  whose  sufferings  thou  canst  lighten,  and  ex- 
hibit a  constant  and  universal  example  of  good  morals. 
Form,  every  evening,  projects  necessary  for  enjoying  a 
ha}  y  and  useful  succeeding  day.'  Thus  you  will  see 


123 

him  useful,  good  and  happy,  if  not  great  in  the  world's 
estimation.  You  will  behold  him  peacefully  descending 
the  current  of  time.  In  striking  the  balance  with  life, 
he  will  be  able  to  say,  I  have  known  only  those  suffer- 
ings which  no  wisdom  could  evade,  and  no  efforts  repel. 
But  such  are  the  prejudices  of  the  age,  to  give  such 
counsels  to  a  son  requires  rare  and  heroic  courage. 

Is  not  that  filial  ingratitude,  of  which  parents  so  gen- 
erally complain,  the  bitter  fruit  of  their  own  training  ? — 
You  fill  their  hearts  with  mercenary  passions,  and  with 
measureless  ambition.  You  break  the  tenderest  ties, 
and  send  them  to  distant  public  schools.  Your  children, 
in  turn,  put  your  lessons  to  account,  and  abandon  your 
importunate  and  declining  age,  if  you  depend  on  them, 
to  mercenary  hands.  When  they  were  young,  you  rid- 
iculed them  out  of  their  innocent  recklessness,  and  frank- 
ness, and  want  of  worldly  wisdom.  You  vaunted  to 
them  that  ambition  and  those  arts  of  rising,  which,  put  in 
practice,  have  steeled  their  hearts  against  filial  piety,  as 
well  as  the  other  affections  that  belong  not  to  calcula- 
tion. Since  the  paramount  object  of  your  training  was 
to  teach  them  to  shine,  and  make  the  most  out  of  every 
body,  you  have  at  least  a  right  to  expect  from  their  van- 
ity, pompous  funeral  solemnities.  I  revere  that  indica- 
tion of  infinite  wisdom,  that  has  rendered  the  love  of  the 
parent  more  anxious  and  tender  than  that  of  the  child. 
The  intensity  of  the  affections  ought  to  be  proportionate 
to  the  wants  of  the  beings  that  excite  them.  But  ingrat- 
itude is  not  in  nature.  Better  training  would  have  pro- 
duced other  manners.  In  rearing  our  children  with 
more  enlightened  care,  in  inspiring  them  with  moderate 
desires,  in  reducing  their  eagerness  for  brilliancy  and  dis- 


124 


tinction,  we  shall  render  them  happy,  without  stifling 
their  natural  filial  sentiments  ;  and  we  shall  thus  use  the 
best  means  of  training  them  to  sustain  and  soothe  our  last 
moments,  as  we  embellished  their  first  days.34 


LETTER    XVI. 

OF      FRIENDSHIP. 

LET  us  bring  within  the  family  circle  a  few  persons  of 
amiable  manners  and  simple  tastes.  Our  domestic  re- 
treat may  then  become  our  universe.  But  we  must 
search  for  real  friends,  with  capabilities  for  continuing 
such.  If  interest  and  pleasure  break  the  accidental  ties 
of  a  day,  shall  friendship,  which  was  always  a  stranger 
to  the  connexion,  be  accused  of  the  infraction  ? 

A  real  friend  must  not  be  expected  from  the  common 
ties  of  vulgar  interest ;  but  must  be,  in  the  circle  to  which 
he  belongs,  as  a  brother  of  adoption.  So  simple  should 
be  our  confidence  in  the  entirenessof  his  affection,  and  the 
disinterestedness  and  wisdom  of  his  advice,  as  to  incline 
us  to  consult  him  without  afflicting  our  wife  or  children 
by  a  useless  communication  of  our  perplexities.  To  him 
we  should  be  able  to  confide  our  fears  ;  and  while  we 
struggle,  by  his  advice  and  aid  to  escape  the  pressing 
evil  which  menaces  to  overwhelm  us,  our  family  may 
still  repose  in  tranquil  security.35 

If  he  suffer  in  turn,  we  share  his  pains.  If  he  have 
pleasures,  we  reciprocally  enjoy  them.  If  either  party 


125 

experience  reverses,  instead  of  finding  himself  alone  in 
misery,  he  receives  consolations  so  touching  and  tender, 
that  he  ceases  to  complain  of  a  lot  which  has  enabled 
him  to  become  acquainted  with  the  depth  of  the  re- 
sources of  friendship. 

How  pure  is  the  sentiment,  how  simple  the  pleasures, 
which  flow  from  the  intercourse  of  two  men  united  by 
similar  opinions  and  like  desires,  who  have  both  cultiva- 
ted letters,  the  arts,  and  true  wisdom !  With  what 
rapidity  the  moments  of  these  charming  conversations 
fly  !  Even  the  hours  consecrated  to  study  are  less 
pleasant,  perhaps  less  instructive.  Such  a  friend,  so  to 
speak,  is  of  a  different  nature  from  that  of  the  rest  of 
men.  They  either  conceal  our  defects,  or  cause  us  to 
see  them  from  motives  of  ill  feeling.  A  friend  so  dis- 
cusses them,  in  our  presence,  as  not  to  wound  us.  He 
kindly  reproaches  us  with  faults,  to  our  face,  which  he 
extenuates,  or  excuses  before  others  in  our  absence. 
We  can  never  fully  comprehend  to  what  extent  a  friend 
may  be  useful  and  dear  until  after  having  been  a  long 
time  the.faithful  companion  of  his  good  and  evil  fortune. 
What  emotions  we  experience  in  giving  ourselves  up  to 
the  remembrance  of  the  common  perils,  storms  and 
trials  we  have  experienced  together !  It  is  never  without 
tenderness  of  heart  that  we  say,  '  we  have  had  the  same 
thoughts,  affections  and  hopes.  Such  an  event  pene- 
trated us  with  common  joy  ;  such  another  filled  us 
with  grief.  Uniting  our  efforts,  we  rescued  a  vic- 
tim of  poverty  and  misfortune.  We  mutually  shared 
his  tears  of  gratitude.  The  hard  necessity  of  circum- 
stances separated  us ;  and  our  paths  so  diverged  that 
seas  and  mountains  divided  us.  But  we  still  remained 
11* 


126 


present  to  each  other,  in  communion  of  thought.  He 
had  fears  for  me,  and  I  for  him,  as  we  foresaw  each 
other's  dangers.  I  learned  his  condition,  interpreted 
his  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  said,  '  such  a  fear  agitates 
him  ;  he  forms  such  a  project,  conceives  such  a  hope.' 
Finally,  we  met  again.  What  charms,  what  effusion  of 
heart  in  the  union  !' 

It  is  a  puerile  absurdity  to  be  proud  of  the  reputation 
of  one  to  whom  we  are  united  by  the  ties  of  blood  —  a 
distinction  which  nature  gave  us.  But  we  may  be 
justly  proud  of  the  rare  qualities  of  our  friend.  The 
ties  of  this  relation  are  not  the  work  of  nature  or  contin- 
gency. We  prove  that,  in  meriting  his  esteem,  we,  at 
least,  resemble  him  in  the  qualities  of  his  heart. 

I  immediately  form  a  high  opinion  of  the  man  whom 
I  hear  earnest  in  the  applause  of  the  talents  or  virtues 
of  his  friend.  He  possesses  the  qualities  which  he  ap- 
plauds ;  since  he  has  need  to  affirm  their  existence  in 
the  person  he  loves. 

This  noble  and  pure  sentiment  has  had  its  peaceable 
heroes.  What  names,  what  examples  could  I  not  cite, 
in  ancient  and  in  modern  times  !  What  splendid  and 
affecting  proofs  of  identity  of  fortune,  joys  and  sorrows, 
and  even  danger  and  death !  I  knew  two  friends,  of 
whom  every  one  spoke  with  respect.  One  of  them  was 
asked  the  extent  of  his  fortune  ?  '  Mine  is  small,'  he 
replied,  '  but  my  friend  is  rich.'  The  other,  a  few  days 
before  he  died  of  a  contagious  disease,  asked,  '  why  so 
many  persons  were  allowed  to  enter  his  chamber  ?  No 
one,'  he  added,  '  ought  to  be  admitted  but  my  friend.' 
Thus  were  they  one  in  fortune,  in  life  and  in  death.36 

I  deem,  that  even  moralists  have  sought  to  render 
this  peaceable  sentiment,  this  gentle  affection,  and  the 


127 


only  one  exempt  from  storms,  too  exclusive.  I  am 
aware,  how  much  our  affections  become  enfeebled,  in 
proportion  as  their  objects  multiply.  There  is  force  in  the 
quaint  expression  of  an  old  author.  '  Love  is  like  a  large 
stream  which  bears  heavy  laden  boats.  Divide  it  into 
many  channels,  and  they  run  aground.'  Still,  we  may 
give  the  honored  name  of  friend  to  several,  without  pro- 
faning it,  if  there  exist  between  us  mutual  sympathy, 
high  esteem  and  tender  interest ;  if  our  pleasures  and 
pains  are,  in  some  sense,  common  stock,  and  we  are 
reciprocally  capable  of  a  sincere  devotion  to  each  other's 
welfare.  As  much,  however,  as  I  revere  the  real  senti- 
ment, I  am  disgusted  by  the  sickly  or  exaggerated  af- 
fectation of  it. 

The  sentiment  is  still  more  delightful  when  inspired 
by  a  woman.  I  shall  be  asked,  if  it  can  exist  in  its 
purity  between  persons  of  the  different  sexes  ?  I  answer 
in  the  affirmative,  when  the  impulses  of  youth  no  longer 
agitate  the  heart.  We  then  experience  the  whole  charm 
of  the  sentiment,  as  the  difference  of  sex,  which  is  never 
entirely  forgotten,  imparts  to  it  a  vague  and  touching 
tenderness  and  an  ideal  delight  for  which  language  is  too 
poor  to  furnish  terms. 

Why  can  love  and  friendship,  the  sunshine  of  exist- 
ence, decay  in  the  heart  ?  Why  are  they  not  eternal  ? 
But  since  it  is  not  so,  if  we  are  cruelly  deceived  in  our 
affections,  the  surest  means  of  medicating  our  pain  is, 
instead  of  cherishing  misanthropic  distrust,  to  look  round 
and  form  the  same  generous  ties  anew.  Has  your  friend 
abandoned  you  ?  or,  worse,  has  your  wife  become  unwor- 
thy of  your  love  ?  It  is  better  to  be  deceived  a  thousand 
times  than  to  add,  to  the  grief  of  wounded  affection,  the 


128 


insupportable  burden  of  general  distrust,  misanthropy 
and  hatred.  Let  these  baneful  feelings  never  usurp  the 
place  of  those  sentiments  which  must  constitute  human 
happiness.  Pardon  to  those  by  whom  you  have  been 
loved,  the  sorrows  which  their  abandonment  has  caused 
you,  in  consideration  of  those  days  of  the  past  which  was 
embellished  by  their  friendship. 

But  these  treasons  and  perfidies  are  only  frequent  in 
the  intercourse  of  those  who  are  driven  about  by  the 
whirlwinds  of  life  ;  in  which  so  many  opposing  interests, 
so  many  deceitful  pleasures  confuse  and  separate  men. 
The  simple  minded  and  good,  whose  days  flow  plea- 
santly in  retreat,  every  day  value  more  the  price  of  those 
ties  that  unite  them.  Their  happiness  is  veiled  and 
guarantied  by  a  guardian  obscurity. 

I  give  place  to  none  of  the  illusions  of  inexperience 
in  regard  to  men.37  The  errors,  contradictions  and 
vices  with  which  they  are  charged,  exist.  I  admit  that 
the  greater  part  of  satires  are  faithful  paintings.  But 
there  are  still  to  be  found,  everywhere,  persons  whose 
manners  are  frank,  whose  heart  is  good,  and  whose  tem- 
per amiable.  These  persons  exist  in  sufficient  numbers 
to  compose  this  new  world  of  which  I  have  spoken. 
Writers  are  disposed  to  declaim  against  men.  I  have 
never  ceased  to  feel  good  will  towards  my  kind.  I 
have  chosen  only  to  withdraw  from  the  multitude,  in 
order  to  select  my  position  in  the  centre  of  a  small  soci- 
ety. For  me  there  are  no  longer  stupid  or  wicked 
people  on  the  earth. 

I  have  examined  the  essential  things  of  life,  tranquil- 
lity and  independence  of  mind,  health,  competence  and 
the  affection  of  some  of  our  kind.  I  wish  now  to  give  my 


129 


observations  something  more  of  detail  and  diversity. 
But  1  wish  it  still  to  be  borne  in  mind,  that  I  give  only 
the  materials  and  outlines  of  an  essay,  and  make  no  pre- 
tensions to  fill  out  a  complete  treatise.  I  wish  that  a 
temple  may  be  raised  to  happiness.  Hands,  more  skil- 
ful than  mine,  will  rear  it.  It  is  sufficient  to  my  pur- 
pose to  indicate  those  delightful  sites,  in  the  midst  of 
which  it  may  be  erected. 


LETTER    XVII. 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  THE  SENSES. 

NATURE  has  decreed,  that  each  one  of  our  senses 
should  be  a  source  of  pleasure.  But  if  we  seek  our 
enjoyment,  only  in  physical  sensations,  the  same  stern 
arbiter  has  enacted,  that  our  capability  of  pleasure  should 
soon  be  exhausted,  and  that,  palled  and  disgusted,  we 
should  die  without  having  known  true  happiness.38 

Exactly  in  proportion  as  pleasures  are  less  associat- 
ed with  the  mind,  their  power  to  give  us  any  perma- 
nent satisfaction  is  diminished.  On  the  contrary,  they 
become  vivid  and  durable,  precisely  in  the  degree  in 
which  they  awaken  and  call  forth  moral  ideas.  They 
become  celestial,  when  they  connect  the  past  with  the 
present,  the  present  with  the  future,  and  the  whole  with 
heaven. 

In  proportion  as  we  scrutinize  the  pleasures  of  the 
senses,  we  shall  always  find  their  charm  increasing  in 


130 


the  same  degree,  as  losing,  if  I  may  so  say,  their  phy- 
sical stain,  they  rise  in  the  scale  of  purification,  and  be- 
come transformed,  in  some  sense,  to  the  dignity  of  mor- 
al enjoyments. 

I  look  at  a  painting :  it  represents  an  old  man,  a 
child,  a  woman  giving  alms,  and  a  soldier,  whose  at- 
titude expresses  astonishment.  I  admire  the  fidelity, 
the  truth  and  coloring  of  the  picture ;  and  my  eye  is 
intensely  gratified.  But  remaining  ignorant  of  the  sub- 
ject, I  go  away,  and  the  whole  shortly  vanishes  from  my 
memory.  I  see  it  again ;  and  am  now  struck  with  the 
inscription  at  the  bottom,  'Date  obolum  BeUsarioS  I  re- 
member an  interesting  passage  of  history.  A  crowd  of 
moral  images  throng  upon  my  spirit :  I  soften  to  tender- 
ness; and  I  comprehend  the  affecting  lesson,  which  the  ar- 
tist is  giving  me.  I  review  the  painting,  again  and  again  ; 
and  thrill  at  the  view  of  the  blind  warrior,  and  of  the  child 
holding  out  his  helmet  to  receive  alms. 

When  we  travel,  those  points  of  view  in  the  landscape 
which  long  fix  our  eye,  are  those  which  awaken  ideas 
of  innocence  and  peace ;  affecting  the  heart  with  asso- 
ciations connected  with  the  morning  of  our  life ;  or  ideas 
of  that  power  and  immensity,  which  move  and  elevate 
the  soul.  The  paintings  of  nature,  as  well  as  those  of 
men,  are  thus  capable  of  being  embellished  by  moral  as- 
sociations. In  travelling,  I  perceive  a  delightful  isle 
embosomed  in  a  peaceful  lake.  White  I  contemplate 
it,  with  the  simple  pleasure  excited  by  a  charming  land- 
scape, I  am  told  that  it  is  inhabited  by  a  happy  pair, 
who  were  long  crossed  and  separated ;  but  who  wore 
out  the  persevering  opposition  of  fortune  ;  and  are  now 
living  there  in  the  innocence  and  peace  of  the  first  ten- 


131 

ants  of  paradise.  How  different  an  interest  the  landscape 
now  assumes  !  I  behold  the  happy  pair,  without  care  or 
regret,  sheltered  from  jealous  observation,^enjoying  the 
dream  of  their  happy  love,  gratefully  contemplating  the 
Author  of  the  beautiful  nature  around  them,  and  elevat- 
ing theb  love  and  their  hearts,  as  a  sacrifice  to  HIM. 

Sites,  which,  in  themselves,  have  no  peculiar  charm, 
become  most  beautiful  as  soon  as  they  awaken  touching 
remembrances.     Suppose  yourself  cast  by  misfortune 
on  the  care  of  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.     He  at- 
tempts to  dispel  yonr  dejection,  and  says,  { these  coun- 
tries are  hospitable,  and  nature  here  puts  forth  all  her 
opulence  ;  come,  and  enjoy  it  with  us.'    The  gay  land- 
scapes, which  spread  before  you,  all  assume  the  appear- 
ance of  strangers  ;  and  offer  no  attractions.     But  while 
your  eye  traverses  the  scenery  with  indifference,  you 
see  blue  hills  melting  into  the  distant  horizon.     No  per- 
son remarks  them,  but  yourself.    They  resemble  the 
mountains  of  your  own  country,  the  scenes  upon  which 
your  infant  view  first  rested.     You  turn  away  to  con- 
ceal the  new  emotions,  and  your  eyes  are  filling  with 
tears.     You  continue  to  gaze  fondly  on  those  hills,  dear 
to  memory.     In  the  midst  of  a  rich  landscape,  they  are 
all  that  interests  you.     You  return  to  review  them  every 
day,  and  demand  of  them  their  treasured  remembrances 
and  illusions, — the  dearest  pleasures  of  your  exile.39; 

All  the  senses  would  offer  me  examples,  in  illustra- 
tion of  this  idea.  Deprive  the  pleasures  of  physical  love 
of  moral  associations,  which  touch  the  heart,  and  you 
take  from  it  all  that  elevates  the  enjoyment  above  that 
of  the  lowest  animals.  Else,  why  do  modesty,  inno- 
cence, the  expression  of  unstained  chastity,  and  the 


132 


graces  of  simplicity  possess  such  enchanting  attractions^ 
The  truth,  that  there  exists  in  love  a  charm  stronger 
than  physical  impulse,  is  not  unknown  even  to  women 
of  abandoned  manners.  The  most  dangerous  of  all  those 
in  this  unhappy  class,  are  they,  who,  not  relying  on 
their  beauty,  feign  still  to  possess,  or  deeply  to  regret 
those  virtues,  which  they  have  really  cast  away. 

There  are  useful  duties  upon  this  subject,  which  I 
should  find  it  difficult  to  present  in  our  language.  In 
proportion  as  the  manners  of  a  people  reach  the  extreme 
refinement  of  artifice  and  corruption,  their  words  be- 
come chaste.  It  is  a  final  and  sterile  homage  rendered 
to  modesty. 

The  last  delights  which  imagination  can  add  to  the 
pleasures  of  love,  are  not  to  be  sought  in  those  vile  places 
where  libertinism  is  an  art.  We  must  imagine  the  first 
wedded  days  of  a  young  and  innocent  pair,  whose  spirits 
are  blended  in  real  affection,  in  similar  tastes,  pursuits 
and  hopes,  who  realize  those  vague  images  which  they 
had  scarcely  allowed  before  to  float  across  their  mind.^ 

They  who  seek  in  the  pleasures  of  taste  only  physi- 
cal sensations,  degrade  their  minds  and  finish  their  use- 
less existence  in  infirmity  and  brutal  degradation.  The 
pleasures  of  taste  should  only  serve  to  render  the  other 
enjoyments  more  vivid,  the  imagination  more  brilliant, 
and  the  pursuits  of  life  more  easy  and  pleasant. — 
All  objects  should  present  themselves  under  a  gay  as- 
pect. A  happy  veil  should  shroud  those  pains  which 
have  been,  or  are  to  be  endured.  Even  the  wine  cup, 
more  powerful  than  the  waters  of  Lethe,  should  not 
only  procure  forgetfulness  of  the  past,  but  embellishment 
of  the  future. 


133 


The  pleasures  derived  from  odors  are  only  vivid,  when 
they  impart  to  the  mind  a  fleeting  and  vague  exaltation. 
Jf  the  orientals  indulge  a  passion  for  respiring  perfumes, 
it  is  not  solely  to  procure  pleasurable  physical  sensations. 
An  embalmed  atmosphere  exalts  the  senses,  and  disposes 
the  mind  to  pleasant  revery,  and  paints  dreams  of  para- 
dise upon  the  indolent  imagination. 

Were  I  disposed  to  present  the  details  of  a  system  up- 
on this  subject,  the  sense  of  hearing  would  offer  me  a 
crowd  of  examples.  The  brilliant  and  varied  accents 
of  the  nightingale  are  ravishing.  But  what  a  difference 
between  hearing  the  melody  from  a  cage,  and  listening  to 
the  song  at  the  noon  of  night,  when  a  cool  and  pure  air 
refreshes  the  lassitude  of  the  burning  day,  and  we  behold 
objects  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  and  hear  the  strains  of 
the  solitary  bird  poured  from  her  free  bower! 

A  symphony,  the  sounds  of  which  only  delight  the  ear, 
would  soon  become  wearying.  If  it  have  no  other  de- 
terminate expression,  it  ought,  at  least,  to  inspire  revery, 
and  produce  an  effect  not  unlike  that  of  perfumes  upon 
the  orientals. 

Suppose  we  have  been  at  an  opera,  got  up  with  all 
the  luxury  of  art.  Emotions  of  delight  and  astonishment 
rapidly  succeed  each  other,  and  we  believe  it  impossi- 
ble to  experience  new  sensations  of  pleasure.  In  re- 
turning home,  we  chance  to  hear  in  the  distance,  through 
the  stillness  of  night,  a  well  remembered  song  of  our 
infancy,  that  was  sung  to  us  by  some  one  dear  to 
our  memory.  It  is  at  once  a  music  exciting  more 
profound  emotion,  than  all  the  strains  of  art  which  we  so 
recently  thought  could  not  be  surpassed.  The  remem- 
brances of  infancy  and  home  rush  upon  the  spirit,  and 
12 


134 


efface  the  pompous  spectacle,  and  the  artificial  graces  of 
execution.39 

Observations  to  the  same  effect  might  be  multiplied 
without  end.  If  you  desire  pleasures,  fertile  in  happy 
remembrances,  if  you  wish  to  preserve  elevation  of  mind 
and  freshness  of  imagination,  choose,  among  the  pleasures 
of  the  senses,  only  those  which  associate  with  moral 
ideas.  Feeble,  when  separated  from  the  alliance  of 
those  ideas,  they  become  fatal  when  they  exclude  them. 
To  dare  to  taste  them,  is  to  sacrifice  happiness  to  pleas- 
ures which  are  alike  ephemeral  and  degrading.  It  is  to 
resemble  him,  who  should  strip  the  tree  of  its  flowers,  to 
enjoy  their  beauty.  He  loses  the  fruits  which  would 
have  followed,  and  scarcely  casts  his  eye  on  the  flowers 
before  they  have  faded. 


LETTER  XVIII. 

THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE    HEART. 

THE  Creator  has  put  forth  in  his  gifts,  a  magnificence 
which  should  impress  our  hearts.  What  variety  in  those 
affectionate  sentiments,  of  the  delights  of  which  our  na- 
tures are  susceptible  !  Without  going  out  of  the  family  cir- 
cle, I  enumerate  filial  piety,  fraternal  affection,  friendship, 
love,  and  parental  tenderness.  These  different  sentiments 
can  all  coexist  in  our  hearts,  and,  so  far  from  weaken- 
ing each  other,  each  tends  to  give  vigor  and  intensity  to 
the  other.  No  doubt,  the  need  of  so  many  affections 


135 


and  props  attests  our  feebleness  and  dependence.  But  I 
can  scarcely  conceive  of  the  happiness,  which  a  being, 
impassible  to  weaknesses  and  wants,  could  find  in  him- 
self. I  am  ready  to  bless  that  infirmity  of  our  natures, 
which  is  the  source  of  such  pure  pleasures,  and  such 
tender  affections. 

Let  us  avoid  confounding  that  sensibility  which  ex- 
acts the  pleasures  of  the  heart,  with  that  which  pro- 
duces impassioned  characters.  They  differ  as  essen- 
tially as  the  genial,  vital  warmth,  from  the  burning  of  a 
fever.  Indolence,  objects  calculated  strongly  to  strike 
the  imagination,  and  those  maxims  which  corrupt  the 
understanding,  develope  a  vague  and  ardent  sensibility, 
which  sometimes  conducts  to  crime,  and  always  to  mis- 
ery. The  other  species  is  approved  by  reason  and  pre- 
served by  virtue.  We  owe  to  it  those  pure  emotions 
which  impart  upon  earth  an  indistinct  sentiment  of  the 
joys  of  heaven. 

There  are  men,  however,  who  dread  genuine  sensi- 
bility ;  and,  under  the  conviction  that  it  will  multiply  their 
pains,  study  to  eradicate  the  germs  of  it  from  their  soul. 

Hume  was  unhappily  an  unbeliever ;  but  I  might  easi- 
ly cite  from  his  life  many  honorable  traits  indicative  of 
a  good  natural  disposition.  He  remarked  to  a  friend, 
who  confided  to  him  his  secret  sorrows,  l  you  entertain 
an  internal  enemy,  who  will  always  hinder  you  from  be- 
ing happy.  It  is  your  sensibility  of  heart.'  'What!' 
responded  his  friend  with  a  kind  of  terror,  '  have  you  not 
sensibility  ?'  '  No.  My  reason  alone  speaks,  and  it  de- 
clares that  it  is  right  to  soothe  distress.' 

In  listening  to  this  reply  of  Hume,  we  are  at  once 
struck  with  the  idea,  that  the  greater  part  of  those  who 


136 


adopt  his  principles,  do  not  pause  at  the  same  point  with 
their  model.  They  sink  into  that  heartless  class,  who 
see  all  human  calamities  with  a  dry  eye,  .provided  they 
have  no  tendency  to  abridge  their  own  enjoyments. 

Suppose  even  that  they  pursue  the  lessons  of  the 
Scotch  philosopher  to  better  purpose ;  and  without  any 
emotion,  without  any  impulse  of  heart,  hold  out  a  suc- 
coring hand  to  those  who  suffer.  This,  perhaps,  may 
answer  the  claims  of  reason.  But  the  social  instinct  will 
always  repel  that  austere  morality,  which  would  give  to 
the  human  heart  an  unnatural  insensibility,  and  deprive  it, 
if  I  may  so  say,  of  its  amiable  weakness.  I  would  hardly 
desire  to  see  a  man  oppose  a  courage,  too  stoical,  to  his 
own  miseries.  The  natural  tears  which  he  sheds  in  ex- 
treme affliction,  are  his  guaranty  for  the  sympathy  which 
he  will  feel  for  my  sorrows. 

It  is  a  vile  but  commo  n  maxim,  that  two  conditions 
are  necessary  to  success  in  life.  The  one  is,  to  have  a 
selfish  heart.  The  other,  the  adage  of  egotism,  is,  that 
to  avoid  suffering,  we  must  stifle  sensibility.  I  say  to 
these  heartless  philosophers  of  the  world,  that  if  the  only 
requisite  is  to  avoid  suffering,  through  destitution  of  feel- 
ing, to  die  is  the  surest  method  of  all.40 

The  secret  of  happiness  does  not  consist  in  avoiding 
all  evils ;  for  in  that  case,  we  must  learn  to  love  nothing. 
If  there  be  a  lot  on  earth  worthy  of  envy,  it  is  that  of  a 
man,  good  and  tender  hearted,  who  beholds  his  own  cre- 
ation in  the  happiness  of  all  who  surround  him.  Let 
him  who  would  be  happy,  strive  to  encircle  himself  with 
happy  beings.  Let  the  happiness  of  his  family  be  the 
incessant  object  of  his  thoughts.  Let  him  divine  the  sor- 
rows and  anticipate  the  wishes  of  his  friends.  Let  him 


137 


inspire  the  fidelity  of  affection  in  his  domestics,  by  pledg- 
ing to  them  a  comfortable  and  pleasant  old  age.  Let 
him,  as  far  as  may  be,  preserve  the  same  servants,  and 
give  them  all  needed  succor  and  counsel.  In  fine,  let 
the  inmates  and  dependents  of  the  house  all  respire  a 
calm  and  regulated  happiness.  Let  even  the  domestic 
animals  know,  that  humanity  presides  over  their  condition. 

Entertaining  such  views,  it  will  be  easy  to  see  in  what 
light  I  contemplate  those  men  who  take  pleasure  in  wit- 
nessing the  combats  of  animals.  What  man  who  has  a 
heart,  can  see  spectacles,  equally  barbarous  and  detest- 
able, with  satisfaction ;  such  as  dogs  tearing  to  pieces 
a  bull,  exhausted  with  wounds,  cocks  mangling  each 
other,  the  encounter  of  brutal  boxers,  or  of  bad  boys  in 
the  streets,  encouraged  to  the  diabolical  sport  of  fighting  ? 
These  are  the  true  schools  of  cowardly  and  savage  fe- 
rocity, and  not  of  manly  courage,  as  too  many  have  sup- 
posed.41 But  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  draw  a  painting 
in  detail  of  the  abominations  of  cruelty,  or  the  pleasures 
of  beneficence,  and  I  resume  my  rapid  and  desultory 
reflections. 

To  preserve  the  sentiments  of  beneficence  and  sensi- 
bility, let  us  avoid  the  pride  which  mars  them.  Benefi- 
cence in  one  respect  resembles  love.  Like  that,  it  courts 
concealment  and  the  shade. 

The  most  useful  direction  we  can  give  to  beneficence 
is,  to  multiply  its  gifts  as  widely  as  possible.  Let  us 
avoid  imitating  those  men  who  are  always  fearful  of  being 
deceived  by  those  who  solicit  their  pity.  In  an  uncer- 
tainty whether  or  not  you  ought  to  extend  succor,  grant  it. 
It  can  only  expose  you  to  the  error  that  is  least  subject 


to  repentance.42 


12* 


138 

Offer  useful  counsels  and  indulgent  consolations.  Save, 
frora  despair,  the  unfortunate  victim,  who  groans  under 
the  remorse  of  an  unpremeditated  fault.  Unite  him 
again  to  society  by  those  cords  which  his  imprudence 
has  broken.  Rekindle  in  him  the  love  of  his  kind,  by 
saying  to  him,  '  though  you  may  not  recover  innocence, 
repentance  can  at  least  restore  your  virtue.' 

If  we  have  access  to  the  opulent  and  powerful,  we 
have  an  honorable,  but  difficult  task  to  fulfil.  To  assume 
the  often  thankless  office  of  soliciting  frequent  favors  for 
friends,  without  losing  the  consideration  necessary  to  suc- 
cess, requires  peculiar  tact,  discernment  and  dignity. — 
Above  all,  it  requires  disinterested  zeal.  In  attempting 
this  delicate  duty  in  the  form  of  letters,  we  may  soon  dis- 
sipate our  slender  fund  of  credit.  Letters  of  recommen- 
dation resemble  a  paper  currency.  They  are  redeem- 
ed in  specie  so  long  as  they  are  issued  discreetly,  and  in 
small  amounts,  but  which  become  worse  than  blank  pa- 
per, as  soon  as  we  multiply  them  too  far.43 

Such  is  the  intrinsic  attraction  of  beneficence,  that 
even  if  we  refuse  to  practise  it,  we  still  love  whatever  re- 
traces its  image.  A  romance  affects  us.  Pathetic 
scenes  soften  our  hearts  at  the  theatre.  In  thus  em- 
bracing the  shadow,  we  pay  a  sublime  testimonial  to  the 
substance. 

The  example  of  beneficence  so  readily  finds  its  way 
to  every  heart,  that  we  are  affected  even  in  thinking  of 
those  who  practise  it.  The  coldest  hearts  pay  a  tribute 
of  veneration  to  those  women,  who,  in  consecrating  them- 
selves to  the  service  of  the  poor  and  the  sick,  encounter 
extreme  fatigue,  disgust,  and  often  abuse  from  the  wretch- 
ed objects  themselves,  in  the  squalidness  and  filth  of 


prisons  and  hospitals.  How  beautiful  to  learn  to  put 
forth  patience  to  mitigate  the  maladies  of  the  body,  and 
hope,  to  soothe  those  of  the  mind  !44  Ye,  who  practise 
virtues  thus  touching  and  sublime,  may  well  hope  the 
highest  recompenses  of  heaven.  Such  alone  are  worthy 
of  your  pure  spirits.  Ye  seem  to  have  passed  in  light 
across  our  dark  sphere,  only  to  fulfil  a  transient  and  ce- 
lestial mission,  to  return  again  to  your  country. 


LETTER    XIX. 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  THE  UNDERSTANDING. 

IN  the  savage  man  the  intellectual  faculties  sleep.  As 
soon  as  his  appetites  are  satisfied,  he  sees  neither  plea- 
sures to  desire,  nor  pains  to  fear.  He  lies  down  and 
sleeps  again.  This  negative  happiness  would  bring 
desolation  to  the  heart  of  a  civilized  man.  All  his  facul- 
ties have  commenced  their  development.  He  experi- 
ences a  new  craving,  which  occupations,  grave  or  futile, 
but  rapidly  changed  and  renewed,  can  alone  appease. 
If  there  occur  between  them  intervals  which  can  be 
filled  neither  by  remembrances,  nor  by  necessary  repose, 
lassitude  and  ennui  intervene,  and  measure  for  him  the 
length  of  these  chasms  in  life  by  sadness. 

The  next  enemy  to  happiness,  after  vice,  is  ennui. 
Some  escape  it  without  much  seeming  calculation.  My 
neighbor  every  morning  turns  over  twenty  gazettes, 
the  state  articles  of  which  are  copied  the  one  from  the 


140 


other.  Economising  the  pleasure  of  this  reading,  and 
gravely  reposing  in  the  intervals,  he  communicates, 
sometimes  with  an  oracular  tone,  sometimes  with  a 
modest  reserve,  his  reflections  to  those  who  surround 
him  ;  and,  at  length,  leaves  the  reading  room  with  the 
importance  of  one  who  feels  that  he  has  discharged  a 
debt  to  society. 

In  public  places,  it  is  not  the  spectacles,  but  the  emo- 
tions of  the  common  people  who  behold  them,  that  are 
worthy  of  contemplation.  In  the  murder  of  a  poor  tra- 
gedy by  poorer  actors,  what  transports  from  this  enthu- 
siastic mass  of  the  audience  when  a  blow  of  the  poniard, 
preceded  by  a  pompous  maxim,  lays  the  tyrant  of  the 
piece  low  !  What  earnest  feeling,  what  sincere  tears  do 
we  witness !  How  much  more  worthy  of  envy  these 
honest  people  who  lose  their  enjoyment  neither  by  the 
revolting  improbability  of  the  situations,  nor  by  the  ab- 
surdity of  the  dialogue,  nor  by  the  mouthing  of  the  re- 
hearsal, than  those  fastidious  critics  who  exalt  their  in- 
tellectual pride  at  the  expense  of  these  cheap  enjoy- 
ments ! 

From  the  moment  in  which  a  man  feels  sincere 
pleasure  in  cultivating  his  understanding,  he  may  date 
defiance  to  the  fear  of  the  weight  of  time.  He  has  the 
magic  key  which  unlocks  the  exhaustless  treasury  of 
enjoyments.  He  lives  in  the  age  and  country  which  he 
prefers.  Space  and  time  are  no  longer  obstacles  to  his 
happiness.  He  interrogates  the  wise  and  good  of  all 
ages  and  all  countries ;  and  his  conversations  with  them 
cease,  or  change  object,  as  soon  as  he  chooses.  How 
much  gratitude  does  he  owe  the  author  of  nature  for  having 
impressed  on  genius  so  many  different  impulses  !  With 


Plato,  he  is  among  the  sages  of  Greece,  hearing  their 
lessons  and  associating  his  wishes  with  theirs  for  the 
happiness  of  his  kind.45  In  the  range  of  history,  he 
ascends  to  the  infancy  of  empires  and  time.  Does  he 
court  repose  ?  Horace  bids  him  gather  the  roses  before 
they  fade ;  or  Shakspeare  reminds  him,  when  illusions 
will  vanish  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision. 

If  a  man  has  powers  and  acquirements,  it  is  a  great 
evil,  if  he  is  disposed  to  fatigue  others  with  his  self-love. 
If  we  could  number  all  the  subjects  of  which  the  most 
accomplished  scholar  is  ignorant,  we  should  perceive 
that  the  interval  between  him  and  a  common  person 
is  not  so  immense  as  he  may  imagine.  Ought  he  to 
be  astonished  if  the  real  friends  of  the  Muses  tire  of  his 
declamations, his  recitations  and  occupancy  with  himself? 

To  attain  truth  should  be  the  real  end  of  all  study. 
In  such  researches  the  mind  kindles,  as  by  enchantment, 
at  every  step  !  The  desire  to  succeed,  produces  that 
noble  emotion  which  is  always  developed  by  ardent  zeal 
and  pure  intentions.  Success,  although  we  were  to 
think  nothing  of  its  results,  inspires  a  kind  of  pleasure  ; 
because  truth  comports  with  our  understanding,  as  bril- 
liant and  soft  colors  agree  with  the  eye,  or  pleasant 
sounds  with  the  ear.  This  enjoyment  naturally  asso- 
ciates with  another  still  more  vivid.  The  effect  of  truth 
is  universally  salutary ;  and  every  instance  in  which  our 
feeble  intellect  discovers  some  gleams,  elevates  the 
spirit,  and  intimately  penetrates  it  with  a  high  degree  of 
happiness. 

One  of  the  chief  advantages  of  study  is,  that  it  en- 
franchises the  mind  from  those  prejudices  that  disturb 
life.  How  many,  and  what  agonizing  torments  have 


142 


been  caused  by  those  which  are  associated  with  false 
ideas  of  religion.46  After  those  great  calamities  in  the 
dark  ages  which  destroyed  the  traces  of  the  sciences 
and  arts,  men,  pursued  by  terror,  seemed  to  imagine 
that  they  constantly  saw  malevolent  spirits  flying  among 
the  clouds  or  wandering  in  the  depth  of  woods.  The 
sound  of  strong  wind  and  thunder  came  to  their  ear  as  the 
voice  of  infernal  divinities  ;  and,  prostrate  with  terror, 
they  sought  to  appease  their  angry  gods  by  bloody  sacri- 
fices. In  process  of  time,  a  small  number  of  men,  en- 
lightened by  observation,  dared  to  raise  the  veil  by 
degrees,  and  succeeded  in  dissipating  these  terrors  by 
tracing  the  seeming  prodigies  to  some  of  the  simplest 
laws  of  physics.  The  phantoms  of  superstition  vanished, 
and,  in  the  light  of  reason,  revealed  a  just  and  benefi- 
cent Divinity  presiding  over  obedient  nature. 

We  think,  in  our  pride,  that  an  immense  interval 
separates  us  from  those  times  of  disaster,  ignorance  and 
alarm.  How  many  of  our  kind,  unhappy  by  their  in- 
tellectual weakness,  still  tremble  before  the  jealous  and 
implacable  god  of  their  imaginations,  who  enjoins  hatred 
and  wrath  ;  and  punishes  even  the  errors  of  opinion  by 
the  most  horrible  torments.  The  man  who  is  exempt 
from  prejudices  is  alone  capable  of  prostrating  himself 
before  the  Divinity  from  a  feeling  of  love,  and  whose 
prayer,  alike  confident  and  resigned,  is  addressed  to  his 
noble  attributes  of  power,  justice  and  clemency. 

There  are  other  errors  which  study  dispels.  The 
student  who  is  charmed  with  communion  with  the  muses, 
does  not  consume  his  best  years  in  gloomy  intrigues; 
nor  do  you  meet  him  pressing  forward  in  the  path  which 
ambition  has  traced.  The  Greeks,  fertile  in  significant 


143 


allegories,  supposed  the  same  divinity  to  preside  over 
the  sciences  and  wisdom. 

The  habit  of  living  in  converse  with  the  noblest  works 
of  mind  and  art.  produces  elevation  of  soul ;  and  he  who 
has  an  elevated  mind  must  be  intrinsically  good  and 
happy.  Exempt  from  the  weaknesses  of  vanity,  free 
from  the  tumultuous  passions,  he  cultivates  the  noble  and 
generous  virtues  for  the  pleasure  of  practising  them. 
Disdaining  a  mass  of  objects  of  desire  which  disturb  the 
vulgar,  he  offers  a  small  mark  to  misery.  Should  ad- 
versity strike  him,  he  has  resources  so  much  the  more 
sure,  as  he  finds  them  in  himself. 

No  one  can  ever  taste  the  full  ctfarm  of  letters  and 
the  arts,  except  in  the  bosom  of  retirement.  If  he  reads 
and  meditates  only  for  the  pursuit  of  fame,  amusements 
change  to  labors.  If  we  propose  to  enter  the  lists,  out- 
strip rivals,  and  direct  a  party,  we  are  soon  agitated  with 
little  passions,  but  great  inquietudes.  Heaven,  sternly 
decreeing  that  no  earthly  felicity  shall  be  unalloyed, 
has  placed  a  thirst  for  celebrity  as  a  drawback  upon  the 
love  of  study. 

But  ought  the  ardor  to  render  immortal  services— 
ought  the  noble  ambition  to  be  useful,  to  be  stifled  ? 
Are  not  these  the  source  of  pleasures  as  pure  as  they 
are  ravishing  ?  I  contemplate  an  immense  and  inde- 
structible republic,  composed  of  all  those  men  who  de- 
vote themselves  to  the  happiness  of  their  kind.  Occu- 
pied without  relaxation  or  abatement  in  continuing  the 
works  which  their  predecessors  have  begun,  they  be- 
queath to  their  successors  the  care  of  pursuing  and 
crowning  their  labors.  Men  of  genius  are  the  chiefs  of 
this  republic.  As  they  have  talents  which  separate 


144 


them  from  the  rest  of  the  human  race ;  they  have  also 
pleasures  reserved  for  themselves  alone.  What  a  sub- 
lime sentiment  must  have  elevated  the  spirit  of  Newton 
when  a  part  of  the  mysterious  laws  of  the  universe  first 
dawned  on  his  mind !  A  glow  still  more  delightful 
must  have  pervaded  the  bosom  of  Fenelon  when  medi- 
tating the  most  beautiful  lessons  which  wisdom  ever  an- 
nounced to  the  powerful  and  the  rulers  of  the  people. 
To  these  privileged  beings  it  belongs,  to  give  a  powerful 
impulse  to  minds,  and  to  trace  a  new  path  for  the 
generations  to  come. 

I  shall  have  attained  my  humble  ambition  if,  docile  to 
the  voice  of  the  wise,  I  shall  be  able,  in  any  degree,  to 
indicate  the  way  in  which  these  lessons  may  be  put  in 
practice.  I  shall  thus  have  contributed  my  aid  to  dissi- 
pate the  night  of  prejudice  and  vice. 


LETTER    XX. 

THE    PLEASURES    OP    THE    IMAGINATION. 

IF  these  words  denote  pleasures  which  have  no  reality, 
let  us  no  longer  use  them.47  The  person  who,  during 
the  twelve  hours  of  every  day  that  he  passed  in  sleep, 
believed  himself  clothed  with  royal  authority,  shared  a 
lot  exactly  similar  to  the  king  who,  dreaming  through 
the  same  number  of  hours,  imagined  that  he  suffered 
cold  and  hunger,  and  asked  the  pity  of  the  peasants  in 
the  streets. 


145 


All  our  pleasures  are  fugitive,  and  they  are  all  real. 
That  wonderful  faculty,  the  imagination,  awakens  past 
pleasures,  charms  the  instant  that  is  flowing,  and  either 
veils  the  future,  or  embellishes  it  in  the  radiance  of  hope. 

Let  us  banish  that  vulgar  prejudice  which  represents 
reason  and  imagination  as  two  enemies  which  cannot 
coexist.  The  severest  reason  ought  to  disdain  no  easy 
and  pure  pleasures.  The  happy  paintings  even  of  a 
dream  bring  joy,  until  their  rainbow  hues  melt  away. 
The  dreams  of  the  imagination  have  greatly  the  advan- 
tage over  those  of  sleep.  Our  will  gives  them  birth. 
We  prolong,  dissipate  and  renew  them  at  pleasure.48 
All,  who  have*iearned  to  multiply  these  happy  moments, 
know,  at  the  same  time,  how  to  enjoy  these  agreeable 
visions,  and  paint  with  enchantment  those  dreamy  hours 
which  they  owe  to  the  effervescence  of  a  gay  imagina- 
tion. 

There  are  situations  in  which  reason  has  no  better 
counsel  to  give  us  than  to  yield  ourselves  up  to  those 
illusions  which  mingle  pleasures  with  our  sufferings. 
I  knew  a  worthy,  but  unfortunate  man,  who  passed 
twenty  months  in  prison.  He  informed  me  that,  every 
night,  he  had  a  dream,  in  which  he  imagined  that  his 
wife  and  children  visited  him  and  restored  him  to 
liberty.49  This  dream  left  a  remembrance  so  profound, 
an  emotion  so  delightful,  that  he  determined  to  attempt 
to  renew  it  by  day.  When  evening  came,  exciting  his 
imagination  to  its  most  vigorous  action,  he  endeavored 
to  persuade  himself  that  the  moment  of  the  reunion  was 
come.  He  represented  to  himself  the  transports  of  his 
wife  and  the  caresses  of  his  children  ;  and  he  allowed 
no  thought  but  these  delightful  visions  to  occupy  his 
13 


146 

mind  until  the  moment  when  sleep  once  more  wrapped 
him  in  forgetfulness.  The  habit  of  concentrating  his 
imagination  for  this  result,  he  assured  me,  finally  ren- 
dered these  illusions  incredibly  vivid  and  real.  He  ex- 
pected night  with  impatience  ;  and  the  certainty  that  the 
close  of  day  would  bring  some  happy  moments,  threw 
over  the  tedious  hours  an  emotion  which  mitigated  his 
sufferings. 

These  charming  illusions,  in  misfortune,  resemble 
those  brilliant  boreal  lights  which,  in  the  midst  of  a 
night  that  lasts  for  weeks,  present  the  image  of  dawn 
during  the  dreary  winters  of  the  polar  circle.  An  ex- 
citable and  vivid  faculty,  which  deceives  misfortune, 
ought  to  embellish  happiness.  To  the  pleasant  things 
we  possess,  it  adds  those  we  desire.  By  its  magic,  we 
renew  the  hours  of  which  the  memory  is  dear.  We 
taste  the  pleasures  which  a  distant  future  promises  ; 
and  see,  at  least,  the  fleeting  shadow  of  those  which  are 
passing  away. 

A  gloomy  philosopher  has  told  us,  that  such  illusions 
are  the  effect  of  a  transient  insanity.  It  seems  to  me 
that  insane  thoughts  are  those  which  create  ennui ;  and 
that  reasonable  ideas  are  those  which  throw  innocent 
charms  over  life.  If  you  reject  these  views,  be  persua- 
ded, at  least,  not  to  adopt  a  false  and  gloomy  wisdom. 
You  ought  rather  to  prefer  the  conviction  that  every- 
thing below  is  folly.50  But  still,  I  can  distinguish  gay 
follies,  frightful  follies,  and  amiable  follies ;  and  I  easily 
discover  that  there  is  a  choice  among  them. 

Why  shonld  the  morose  being  who  perceives  only 
bad  people  on  the  earth,  and  only  miseries  in  the  future, 
blame  him  who  cradles  flattering  hopes,  always  spring- 


147 


ing  up  anew,  for  allowing  himself  to  be  beguiled  by  the 
illusions  of  his  imagination  ?  Both  deceive  themselves. 
But  the  one  cherishes  a  mistake  which  brings  hatred 
and  suffering,  and  the  other  lives  on  gaily  in  his  illusions. 

Wisdom  does  not  disdain  a  faculty  merely  for  being 
brilliant;  and,  to  taste  all  the  pleasures  of  imagination, 
it  is  indispensable  that  reason  should  be  much  exercised. 

Imagination  resembles  the  magician  of  an  oriental 
romance  who  transports  his  favorite  hero  to  scenes  of 
enchantment,  to  try  him  with  pleasures ;  and  then  de- 
livers him  over  to  a  hostile  magician,  who  multiplies  peril 
and  misery  around  him.  This  creative  faculty,  in  its 
perversion,  is  as  fertile  to  invent  torments  as,  in  its  more 
propitious  moods,  to  bring  forth  pleasures.  If  once  we 
resign  ourselves  to  its  gloomy  caprices,  it  conjures  up 
the  terror  of  a  thousand  unreal  evils.  Reason  cannot 
always  follow  its  meteor  path ;  but  ought,  at  least,  to 
point  out  the  course  in  which  happiness  invites  it  to 
walk. 

The  aid  of  reason  is  still  more  necessary  at  the  mo- 
ment when  the  chimeras  of  imagination  disappear.  It 
is  an  afflicting  moment.  Reason  should  prepare  us  to 
meet  it.  Every  man,  with  an  elevated  mind  and  a  good 
heart,  has  delighted  to  imagine  himself  far  away  from 
the  stupid  and  wicked  ;  in  a  smiling  country,  separated 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  alone  with  a  few  friends. 
Suppose  this  dream  realized  ;  I  am  aware  that,  tomorrow, 
the  peaceful  exile  might  be  indulging  regrets  for  the 
place  he  had  left ;  and  forming  plans  to  escape  from  the 
ennui  of  the  new  country.  Since  we  change  our  des- 
tiny in  these  respects,  without  altering  our  instinctive 
desire  of  change,  let  us  study  the  art  of  softening  the 


148 


pains  of  our  actual  condition ;  and  let  us  learn  to  extract 
all  possible  advantages  from  it  by  imparting  to  it,  if 
nothing  more,  the  embellishment  created  by  the  happy 
anticipations  of  a  fertile  imagination. 

Ought  we  to  indulge  regrets  because  these  paintings 
of  the  imagination  so  rapidly  disappear.  I  have  seen 
the  rich  and  the  great  stripped,  in  a  moment,  of  their 
fortune  and  power ;  and  shall  I  afflict  myself  because 
my  dream  has  vanished  ?  These  unfortunate  people 
lost  all  that  was  dear  to  them,  forever.  For  me,  I  can 
renew  these  pleasures  of  imagination  at  my  will. 

Far  from  sacrificing  any  of  our  faculties,  let  us  exer- 
cise them  all ;  and  let  them  mutually  conduce  to  our 
happiness.  As  we  advance  in  life,  our  reason  should 
grow  to  the  calm  of  mature  age.  But  let  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  heart  still  preserve  scintillations  of  the  fire 
of  youth. 


LETTER    XXI. 

MELANCHOLY. 

THERE  is  no  pleasure  of  earth  but,  as  soon  as  it  be- 
comes vivid,  has  a  tendency  to  tinge  itself  with  melan- 
choly. The  birth  of  an  infant,  the  convalescence  of  a 
father,  the  return  of  a  friend  who  has  been  long  absent, 
fill  the  eyes  with  tears.  Nature  has  thus  chosen  to 
mingle  the  colors  of  joy  and  sadness.  Having  destined 
us  to  experience  each  of  the  emotions  in  turn,  she  has 


149 


ordained  that  the  shades  of  transition  should  melt  into 
each  other.51 

The  dearest  remembrances  are  those  which  are  ac- 
companied by  tenderness  of  heart.  The  sports  of 
infancy,  the  first  loves,  the  perils  we  have  forever 
esoaped,  and  the  faults  we  have  learned  to  repair,  are 
of  the  number.  Whoever  will  recollect  the  happiest 
moments  of  his  life,  will  find  them  to  have  produced  this 
emotion. 

But  there  are  two  kinds  of  melancholy ;  or  rather, 
we  must  not  confound  melancholy  with  gloom.  Will 
the  slight  tenderness  of  sorrow  which  imparts  a  new 
charm  to  the  fugitive  pleasures  of  existence  be  inspired 
by  those  gloomy  books  which  this  age  has  attempted  to 
bring  into  fashion  ;  by  those  terrific  and  wild  dreams  in 
which  hideous  personages  enact  revolting  scenes  ? 
Modern  imagination  has  painted  melancholy  a  tall  and 
unearthly  spectre  enveloped  in  a  winding  sheet.  The 
real  traits  of  her  countenance  are  those  of  innocence 
occupied  in  pleasant  revery  ;  and  at  the  same  time  that 
tears  are  in  her  eyes,  a  smile  dwells  on  her  lips. 

It  is  the  resort  of  a  sterile  imagination  and  a  -cold 
heart,  to  invest  even  the  tomb  with  borrowed  ideas  of 
darkness ;  to  wait  for  night  in  which  to  visit  it ;  and  to 
torment  the  fancy  to  people  it  with  sinister  phantoms. 
Real  sensibility  would  not  require  such  an  effort  to  be 
awakened.  It  fills  my  mind  with  a  pleasing  sadness  to 
wander  in  the  church  yard,  under  the  melancholy  radi- 
ance of  the  moon,  among  monuments  of  white  marble, 
and  hear  the  night  breeze  sigh  among  the  weeping  wil- 
lows. I  am  deeply  affected  with,  here  and  there,  a 
touching  inscription.52  I  remember  one  in  which  i 
13* 


father  says,  that  he  has  had  five  children,  and  that  here 
sleeps  the  last  that  remained  to  him  for  consolation.  In 
another,  a  father  and  mother  announce  that  their  daugh- 
ter died  at  seventeen,  a  victim  of  their  weak  indulgence, 
and  of  the  extravagant  modes  of  the  time.  This  sojourn 
of  repose,  these  words  written  in  the  abodes  of  silejjce, 
which  inspire  tenderness  for  those  that  are  no  more,  and 
those  whose  treasured  affection  still  remembers  them, 
always  penetrate  the  soul  with  an  emotion  not  without 
its  charms.  In  the  view  of  tombs,  we  immediately  di- 
rect our  thoughts  to  an  internal  survey  of  ourselves.  I 
mark  out  my  place  among  the  peaceful  mansions.  I 
imagine  the  vernal  grass  and  flowers  reviving  over  my 
place  of  rest.  My  imagination  transports  me  to  the 
days  which  I  shall  not  see,  and  sounds  for  me  the  sooth- 
ing dirge  of  the  adieus  of  friendship  pronounced  over 
the  spot  where  I  am  laid.53 

I  generally  carry  from  my  sojourn  in  these  our  last 
mansions,  one  painful  sentiment.  I  remark  that  many 
tombs  are  raised  by  parents  for  their  children  ;  by  hus- 
bands for  their  wives ;  by  widows  for  their  husbands. 
I  observe  that  there  are  but  few  erected  by  children  for 
their  fathers.  Perhaps  it  is  right  that  love  should  as- 
cend in  that  scale,  rather  than  descend  in  the  other. 

Occasional  visits  to  ruins  and  tombs  inspire  salutary 
melancholy.  But  the  habit  of  frequently  contemplating 
these  lugubrious  objects  is  dangerous.  It  blunts  sensi- 
bility and  creates  the  necessity  of  always  requiring 
strong  emotions.  It  nourishes  in  the  soul  sombre  ideas 
which  do  not  associate  with  happiness.  Without  doubt, 
there  are  those  who  are  so  unhappy  as  to  long  for  the 
repose  of  the  grave ;  who  find  solace  in  these  gloomy 


spectacles.  Young,  after  having  lost  his  only  daughter, 
after  having  in  vain  solicited  a  little  consecrated  earth 
to  cover  the  remains  of  the  youthful  victim  ;  after  being 
reduced  to  the  necessity  of  interring  the  loved  one  with 
his  own  hands,  might  be  tempted  to  fly  his  kind  and 
love  only  night,  solitude  and  tombs.  There  have  been 
men,  condemned  by  the  award  of  nature,  to  such  re- 
verses as  nourish  an  incurable  and  perpetual  melancholy. 
Their  frigid  imitators,  without  their  reason  and  profound 
feeling,  in  wishing  to  render  themselves  singular,  become 
tiresome  and  ridicnlous  in  their  melancholy. 

Writers  of  the  most  splendid  genius  of  the  age  have 
consecrated  their  talents  to  celebrate  melancholy  ; 
not  that  melancholy  which  has  a  smile  of  profound 
sensibility,  but  that  which  has  been  cradled  in  tombs 
and  which  holds  out  to  us  the  full  draught  of  sadness. 
There  is  something  in  these  heart-rending  scenes,  these 
lugubrious  spectacles,  which  the  age  seeks  with  avidity. 
A  writer  whose  talent  tends  to  render  his  errors  sedu- 
cing, has  taken  pleasure  in  viewing  the  Christian  religion 
as  opening  an  inexhaustible  source  of  melancholy.  It 
seems  to  exalt  his  mind,  most  of  all,  when  it  presents 
itself  to  him  under  a  funereal  aspect. 

He  paints  religion  as  born  in  the  forests  of  Horeb 
and  Sinai,  forever  surrounded  with  a  formidable  gloom  j 
and  offering  to  our  adorations  a  God  who  died  for  men. 
(iHe  describes  the  invasion  of  the  barbarians,  the  perse- 
cutions of  the  first  believers,  cloisters  arising  from  deep 
and  dark  groves,  and  melancholy  continually  receiving 
new  accessions  from  the  austere  rules  imposed  upon  the 
pious  inmates. 

'  There,'  said  he,  '  the  tenants  of  these  religious  seclu- 


152 

sions  dug  their  own  tombs,  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  in 
the  cemeteries  of  their  own  cloisters.  Their  couch  was 
a  coffin.  Some  of  them  occasionally  wandered  away 
to  sojourn  among  the  ruins  of  Memphis  and  Babylon, 
striking  the  chords  of  the  harp  of  David,  surrounded  by 
beasts  of  prey.  Some  condemned  themselves  to  per- 
petual silence.  Others  sung  a  continual  hymn,  echoing 
the  sighs  of  Job,  the  lamentations  of  Jeremiah,  or  the 
penitential  songs  of  the  prophet  king.  Their  monaste- 
ries were  built  on  sites  the  most  savage,  on  the  summits 
of  Lebanon,  in  the  deep  forests  of  Gaul,  or  on  the  crags 
of  the  British  shores.  How  sad  the  knell  of  the  reli- 
gious bells,  heard  at  the  noon  of  night,  must  have 
sounded  when  calling  the  vestals  to  their  vigils  and 
prayers  !  The  sounds,  as  they  swelled  and  died  away, 
mingled  the  last  strains  of  the  hymns  with  the  distant 
dashing  of  the  waves.  How  profound  must  have  been 
the  meditations  of  the  solitary  who,  from  his  grated  win- 
dow, indulged  in  revery,  as  his  eye  wandered  over  the 
illimitable  sea,  perhaps  agitated  with  a  tempest !  What 
a  contrast  between  the  fury  of  the  waves  and  the  calm 
of  his  retreat !  The  expiring  cries  of  men  are  heard  as 
they  dash  upon  the  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  asylum  of 
peace.  Infinity  stretches  out  on  one  side  of  their  cell ; 
and  on  the  other  the  slab  of  a  tomb  alone  separates  be- 
tween eternity  and  life.  All  the  different  forms  of  mis- 
fortune, remembrance,  manners,  and  the  scenes  of  na- 
ture concurred  to  render  the  Christian  religion  the  genius 
of  melancholy.' 

Can  it  be  thought,  for  a  moment,  possible  that  sighs 
without  end,  the  love  of  deserts  and  the  hope  of  the 
tomb  are  all  the  consolations  that  this  divine  religion  is 


153 


calculated  to  bring  to  the  heart  of  man  ?  Such  an  error 
could  only  have  had  its  origin  in  an  unregulated  imagina- 
tion. The  Christian  religion,  though  pensive  and  seri- 
ous, is  not  sad.  Less  brilliant,  less  imaginative  than 
pagan:sm,  less  friendly  to  pleasure,  she  is  far  more 
favorable  to  happiness. 

My  opinion  in  regard  to  the  legitimate  tendency  of 
religion,  is  not  only  different  but  directly  opposite.  A 
pure  religion  must  produce  tranquillity,  confidence  and 
joy.  It  is  departure  from  religious  views  which  are 
true  and  just,  that  is  followed  by  a  vague  sadness,  gloom 
and  despondency. 

These  funereal  and  yet  eloquent  paintings,  traced 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  melancholy,  must  have  had  the 
effect  to  increase  the  number  of  men  of  atrabilious  tem- 
perament, weary  of  the  world,  and  tired  of  themselves. 
Were  it  true  that  the  Christian  religion  inspired  an 
insatiate  craving  for  funereal  reveries,  far  from  consider- 
ing it  as  I  do,  divine,  I  should  estimate  it  anti-social. — 
The  true  friends  of  the  Christian  religion  always  paint  it  as 
it  is,  more  powerful  than  even  human  misery ;  giving: 
clothing  to  the  naked,  bread  to  the  hungry,  an  asylum  to. 
the  sick,  a  peaceful  home  to  the  returning  prodigal,  and 
a  mother  to  the  orphan  ;  wiping  away  the  tears  of  inno- 
cence with  a  celestial  hand,  and  filling  the  eyes  of  the 
culpable  and  contrite  with  tears  of  consolation.  Let 
pious  thankfulness  and  a  calm  courage,  which  even  death 
cannot  shake,  environ  its  modest  heroes.  Let  its  mar-, 
tyrs  be  those  of  charity  and  toleration ;— ^the  protestant 
opening  an  asylum  to  catholic,  falling  under  the  fanat-? 
ical  fury  of  his  brethren ;  and  when  bloody  and  impious 
mandates  order  the  massacre  of  protestants,  the  catholiq 


154 


sheltering  them  in  his  mansion.  Such  was  the  spirit  of 
Erasmus:  such,  of  the  divine  Fenelon  ;  such,  of  William 
Penn,  and  a  few  tolerant  lights  that  have  gleamed  through 
ages  of  persecution  and  darkness.  Such  are  the  men 
whose  disciples  we  desire  to  multiply.  Let  us  cease  to 
incorporate  melancholy  errors  and  gloomy  follies  with  the 
religion  of  peace,  confidence  and  hope.  Eloquence  was 
imparted  for  a  nobler  use. 


LETTER    XXII. 

RELIGIOUS    SENTIMENTS. 

THE  philosophy  of  happiness  must  find  its  ultimate 
requisite  in  the  hopes  of  religion.  Man  must  be  per- 
suaded that  his  present  life  has  relation  to  a  never  end- 
ing future,  and  that  an  eternal  providence  watches  over 
the  universe,  before  he  will  abandon  himself  with  a  tran- 
quil confidence  to  those  irresistible  laws  by  which  he  is 
borne  along.  He  then  marches  towards  the  future,  as 
he  would  confidently  follow  a  guide  of  tried  prudence 
and  fidelity  in  a  dark  path.54 

In  the  fever  and  tumult  of  worldly  pleasures  and  pur- 
suits, the  voice  of  wisdom  has  little  chance  to  be  heard, 
and  it  seems  necessary  that  misfortune  should  have  forced 
the  mind  in  upon  itself,  before  \ve  become  inclined  to 
find  resources  in  religion.  Then  we  invoke  this  sublime 
and  consoling  power,  and  like  the  friend  that  avoids  our 
prosperity  and  our  festivals,  but  returns  to  cheer  our 


155 

misfortunes,  this  celestial  friend  is  at  hand  to  offer  her 
sustaining  succor.  We  may  class  all  those  pleasures  as 
noxious,  which  will  not  associate  with  this  august  visitant. 
Even  in  our  periods  of  happiness,  if  we  pause  for  the  re- 
flection of  a  moment,  we  find  the  need  of  immortality. 
All  the  generous  and  tender  affections  acquire  a  new 
charm  in  alliance  with  religious  ideas,  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  objects  beautiful  in  themselves,  receive  a  new  lus- 
tre when  a  pure  light  is  thrown  upon  them.  Filial  piety 
becomes  more  touching  in  those  children  who  pray  with 
fervor  for  the  preservation  of  the  life  of  a  mother.  Let 
a  pious  courage  guide  the  sister  of  charity,  and  she  be- 
comes the  angel  of  consolation,  as  she  visits  the  abodes 
of  misery.  Even  virtue  itself  does  not  receive  its  celes- 
tial impress,  except  in  alliance  with  religious  sentiments. 
A  few  of  the  higher  philosophers  among  the  great  an- 
cients, and  Fenelon,  Newton,  Milton  and  a  few  other 
men  of  immortal  name,  saw  the  divinity  as  He  is,  and 
contemplated  the  perfect  model  of  his  infinite  perfections. 
Their  efforts  tended  to  cooperate  with  the  divine  views 
of  order  and  harmony,  in  constantly  directing  human  ac- 
tions and  thoughts  towards  good.  The  beautiful  system 
of  the  gospel  has  the  same  simplicity  of  object ;  and  its 
tendency  to  honor  and  meliorate  humanity  is  directed 
by  the  highest  wisdom.  Sentiments  which  give  to  all 
our  faculties  a  direction,  fertilize  genius  as  well  as  virtue. 
High  models,  in  any  walk  of  mind,  will  never  be  pro- 
duced in  a  world  whose  inhabitants  believe  in  nothing 
but  matter,  fortuitous  combinations,  and  the  annihilation 
of  our  being.  Apostles  of  atheism  !  your  dreary  creed 
throws  an  impenetrable  gloom  upon  the  universe,  and 
dries  the  source  of  all  high  thoughts.  The  advocates  of 


156 


these  views  vaunt  the  necessity  of  proclaiming  the  truth. 
I,  too,  am  the  fearless  advocate  of  the  truth,  and  have 
no  dread  of  its  results.  But  could  I  be  persuaded,  that 
religious  hopes  were  unfounded,  I  should  be  tempted 
to  renounce  my  confidence  in  truth  itself;  and  no  longer 
to  inculcate  the  necessity  of  loving  and  seeking  to  propa- 
gate it.  It  is  by  the  light  of  this  divine  torch,  that  real 
sages  have  desired  to  investigate  religion.  Were  it  pos- 
sible that  the  elevated  and  consoling  ideas,  which  reli- 
gion offers,  could  be  baseless  and  absurd  chimeras,  error 
and  truth  would  be  so  confounded,  that  there  would  no 
longer  remain  any  discriminating  sign  by  which  to  dis- 
tinguish the  one  from  the  other.  Atheists  boast  that  they 
are  the  only  frank  and  hardy  antagonists  of  superstition. 
They  are  its  most  effectual  allies.  The  superstitious 
have  brouglit  forth  the  atheists,  and  the  atheists  have 
re-produced  the  superstitious  ;  as,  in  revolutions,  resist- 
ance produces  fury,  and  that  multiplies  resistance. 

I  have  known  excellent  men,  apparently  earnest  and 
docile  inquirers  for  truth,  who  have  desired  in  vain  to 
establish  in  their  mind  these  consoling  convictions. — 
Their  understanding  refused  to  respond  to  the  wish  of 
their  hearts. 

Why  can  I  not  impart  this  happy  conviction  to  their 
understanding?  My  subject  precludes  reasoning,  and  I 
only  know  arguments  that  are  very  simple ;  but  I  think 
with  Bacon,  that  it  needs  quite  as  much  credulity  to 
adopt  the  opinion  of  atheists,  as  to  yield  faith  to  all  the 
reveries  of  the  Talmud  or  the  Koran.  Themore  pro- 
foundly I  attempt  to  investigate  the  doctrines  of  infideli- 
ty, and  consider  everything  that  surrounds  me,  as  re- 
sulting from  the  combinations  of  chance,  the  play  of 


157 


atoms,  the  efforts  of  brute  matter,  the  more  my  inqui- 
ries are  involved  in  darkness.  I  strive  in  vain  to  give 
to  any  hypothesis  of  atheism  the  honest  semblance  of  prob- 
ability. Matter  cannot  reflect  upon  the  order  which 
its  different  parts  require.  Neither  can  those  parts  in- 
terchange reason  and  discussion.  Neither  an  atom,  nor  a 
globe  can  say  to  others  of  their  class, '  such  are  the  courses 
in  which  we  must  move.'  Let  us  simplify  difficulties,  as 
much  as  possible,  and  admit  that  matter  has  always  ex- 
isted ;  let  us  even  suppose  motion  essential  to  it ;  a  su- 
preme intelligence  is  none  the  less  necessary  to  the  har- 
mony of  the  universe.  Without  a  governor  of  worlds, 
I  can  only  conceive  of  nihility  or  chaos. 

From  the  sublimest  of  all  thoughts,  there  is  a  God, 
flow  all  the  truths  which  my  heart  desires.     The  beau- 
tiful superstructure  of  Christianity  results,  as  a  corol- 
lary, or  ultimate  inference,  from  this  consoling  axiom. 
The   system    which  rejects  the   soul's  immortality,  is 
equally  absurd  with  that  of  atheism.     Of  the  different 
arguments  against  the  being  of  a  God,  the  most  striking 
one  is  that  which  is  drawn  from  the  evils  which  prevail 
on  the  earth.     The  first  thought  of  every  man  of  sensi- 
bility, is,  that  had  he  the  power  to  make   a  world,  he 
would  banish  misery  from  it,  and  so  arrange  the  order 
of  things,  as  that  existence  should  be,  to  all  conscious  be- 
ings, a  succession  of  moments,  each  marked  by  happi- 
ness. But  infirmities,  vices,  misery,  sorrow  and  death  pur- 
sue us.     How  reconcile  the  misery  of  the  creation  with 
the  power  and  beneficence  of  the  Creator  ?     How  re- 
solve this  strange  problem  ?     How  explain  this  revolting 
contradiction  ?     Immortality  is  the  only  solution  of  the 
enigma  of  life.55 
14 


158 


A  whimsical  combination  of  deism  and  materialism 
orms,  at  present,  the  most  widely  diffused  system  among 
the  unbelieving.  They  have  imagined  a  God  possess- 
ing only  physical  power,  and  contemplating  the  move- 
ment of  his  innumerable  worlds,  alike  indifferent  to  crime 
and  virtue.  He  beholds  with  the  same  carelessness  the 
generations  that  pass,  and  those  that  succeed ;  and  sees 
deliverers  and  tyrants  alike  confounded  in  their  fall.  — 
Admit  the  truth  of  such  dogmas,  and  the  conceptions  of 
a  religious  man  would  possess  more  expansion  and  sub- 
limity than  the  views  of  the  Eternal.  Socrates,  without 
the  illumination  of  the  gospel,  could  have  taught  them 
better.  Surrounded  by  his  weeping  disciples,  he  points 
them  beyond  the  tomb  to  the  places  where  the  sage  at 
last  respires  freely  ;  and  where  the  misfortunes  and  in- 
equalities of  earth  are  redressed.  In  painting  these  illu- 
sions of  hope,  if  they  are  vain,  the  sage  has  conceived  in 
his  dreams  an  equity  superior  to  that  of  the  infinite  Be- 
ing. Let  us  dare  to  maintain  that  the  feeble  children  of 
clay  have  a  right  to  entertain  ideas  of  order  and  desert, 
more  just  than  those  of  the  Creator,  or  admit  that  the 
heart,  made  capable  of  the  desire  of  another  life,  is  des- 
tined to  enjoy  it. 

The  destiny  of  all  the  inferior  orders  that  surround 
us,  appears  to  terminate  upon  the  earth.  Ours  alone  is 
evidently  not  accomplished  here.  The  animals,  exempt 
from  vice,  incapable  of  virtue,  experience,  in  ceasing  to 
live,  neither  hopes  nor  regrets.  They  die  without  the 
foresight  of  death.  Man,  in  the  course  of  an  agitated 
jife,  degrades  himself  by  follies  and  vices,  or  honors  him- 
self by  generous  and  useful  actions.  Remembrances, 
loves,  ties,  in  countless  forms,  twine  about  his  heart.  He 


159 


is  torn,  in  agony,  from  beings  for  whom  he  has  commenc- 
ed an  affection  that  he  feels  might  be  eternal.  Perse- 
cuted for  his  virtue,  proscribed  for  his  wisdom  and  cour- 
age, calumniated  for  his  most  conscientious  acts,  he  turns 
to  heaven  a  fixed  look  of  confidence  and  hope.  Has 
he  nothing  to  perform  beyond  death  ?  Has  the  author 
of  nature  forgotten  his  justice,  only  in  completing  his 
most  perfect  work  ? 

Our  immortality  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  the 
existence  of  God.  Let  us  not  wander  astray  in  vain 
discussions,  which,  with  our  present  faculties,  we  can 
never  master  —  such  as  relate  to  the  nature  of  the  soul. 
My  hopes,  my  convictions,  rest  not  upon  a  cloudy,  met- 
aphysical argument.  Neither  can  the  proud  treatise 
of  a  sophist  weaken,  nor  the  puerile  dialectics  of  a  pe- 
dant increase  it.  It  is  enough  for  me  that  there  is  a 
God.  Virtue  in  misfortune  must  have  hopes  which  do 
not  terminate  with  the  tomb.  The  sublime  inculcation 
of  Socrates  was,  *  preserve  confidence  in  death.'  But 
recompense  in  another  existence  supposes  merit ;  and 
merit  requires  liberty. 

Is  man  free  ?  We  can  reduce  this  question  which  has 
been  so  much  vexed,  and  so  often  obscured,  to  terms  of 
entire  simplicity.  It  has  been  most  forcibly  presented 
by  Hobbes,  the  vile  apostle  at  once  of  atheism  and  des- 
potism, who  seems  to  have  striven  to  unite  the  most  per- 
nicious doctrines  with  an  example,  which  merits  execra- 
tion. '  Two  objects, '  he  remarks, '  attract  us  in  opposite 
directions.  As  long  as  they  produce  impressions  nearly 
equal,  our  mind,  in  a  state  of  uncertainty,  vacillates 
from  the  one  to  the  other ;  and  we  believe,  that  we  are 
deliberating.  Finally,  one  of  the  objects  strikes  us  with 


160 


a  stronger  impression  than  the  other.  We  are  drawn  to- 
wards it ;  and  we  believe  that  it  is  because  we  will  it.  — 
Thus,  man,  always  passive,  yields  to  the  Strongest  and 
most  vivid  sensation.  Free  actions  would  be  an  effect 
without  a  cause.'  Admirable  reasoning  !  What  other 
freedom  could  I  wish,  than  to  prefer  what  seems  to  me 
the  most  desirable  ?  Let  the  disciples  of  Hobbes  in- 
struct me  how  they  would  choose  that  man  should  de- 
termine, in  order  to  be  conscious  of  liberty  ?  Would 
they  wish  him  to  choose  the  object  that  is  repugnant  ta 
him  ?  This  is  too  evidently  absurd.  Should  he  vacil- 
late in  indifference  between  the  one  object  and  the  other  ? 
This  would  be  to  sink  into  an  existence  of  perfect  apathy, 
without  reason  or  will.  Man  has  all  the  liberty,  of 
which  such  a  being  is  capable  —  all,  in  fact,  which  he 
could  desire. 

How  puerile  are  these  metaphysical  subtleties,  when 
employed  upon  moral  truths  I56  What  a  monster  would 
man  become  on  the  system  of  the  fatalists  !  What  is 
that  system  worth^the  consequences  of  which  cannot  be 
admitted  ?  If  we  act  under  the  inevitable  empire  of  fa- 
talism, why  is  he  who  proclaims  this  doctrine,  indignant 
at  the  thought  of  crime  ?  Does  he  contemplate  Socra- 
tes and  his  executioners  with  the  same  approbation  ?  — — 
Will  he  regard  with  the  same  feeling  Antoninus  dictaU 
ing  pious  lessons  to  his  son,  and  Nero  assassinating  his 
mother  ?  Will  he  estimate  as  alike  meritorious  a  perse- 
cuted Christian  praying  for  his  enemies,  and  the  monarch 
ordering  the  massacre  of  St  Bartholomew  ?  Do  such 
contrasts  offend  us  ?  And  why  ?  According  to  the  sys- 
tem of  fatalism,  the  good  ought  to  inspire  us  with  less  in- 
terest than  the  wicked.  A  blind  fatality  awards  to  the 


161 

virtuous  that  pure  pleasure,  that  is  inseparably  connect- 
ed with  good  actions.  They  receive  a  high  reward 
without  any  merit ;  while  the  others  are  a  prey  to  re- 
morse, and  the  incessant  object  of  public  hatred  and  ab- 
horrence. If  they  are  innocent,  as  on  the  principles  of 
fatalism  they  must  be,  how  ought  we  to  mourn  over  them, 
and  pity  them  !  What  purpose  can  these  doctrines 
serve  ?  He  who  advocates  them,  is  concsious  of  im- 
pulses to  do  good,  and  deliberates  upon  alternatives  in  the 
courses  which  honor  and  duty  call  him  to  pursue.  His 
principles,  then,  are  contradicted  by  the  voice  of  his 
own  heart.  When  he  has  committed  a  fault,  it  declares 
to  him  that  he  might  have  chosen  a  contrary  part.  — 
When  he  has  done  a  virtuous  action,  it  inspires  emotions 
of  joy,  which  render  him  conscious  that  he  is  a  free  agent. 
This  voice  within  is  anterior  to  all  reasoning,  and  as  inca- 
pable of  being  invalidated  as  any  other  consciousness. 
Inexhaustible  emotions  of  satisfaction  spring  from  reli- 
gious hopes.  Reanimated  by  them,  I  no  longer  see 
tears  without  consolation,  nor  fear  an  eternal  adieu.  — 
The  tomb,  though  a  fearful,  is  but  a  frail  barrier,  which 
separates  us  from  those  real  joys,  of  which  the  pleasures 
of  a  fugitive  existence  are  but  the  shadow. 

Never  would  men  have  exchanged  their  natural  con- 
victions, their  internal  aspirations,  their  instinctive  hopes 
of  immortality,  for  the  lurid  and  deceptive  glare  of  in- 
fidelity, if  religious  views  had  not  been  disfigured  by 
being  combined  with  the  grossest  errors  and  prejudices. 
Of  these,  there  are  two  which  every  good  man  ought  to 
strive  to  eradicate  from  all  minds,  and  if  it  were  possi- 
ble, to  purge  from  the  earth. 

The  first  causes  us  to  behold  in  the  divinity  a  menac- 
14* 


162 


ing  and  implacable  judge,  constantly  eager  to  execute 
vengeance.  Monstrous  conception  !  Revolting  error  ! 
Infancy  and  old  age,  the  two  extremes  of  earthly  exist- 
ence, which  from  their  feebleness,  call  for  our  most 
soothing  cares,  are  those  most  persecuted  with  this  vile 
and  fierce  prejudice.  A  cruel  superstition  has  selected 
these  terrific  ideas,  these  horrible  images,  with  which  to 
besiege  the  bed  of  death,  to  light  up  the  scene  of  agony — 
of  parting  and  trembling  apprehensions  —  with  the  flames 
of  perdition.  My  bosom  swells  with  mingled  emotions, 
when  I  see  any  one  attempting  to  darken  the  feeble  and 
docile  reason  of  a  child  with  these  sinister  views.  Pur- 
sued even  in  his  dreams  by  these  terrible  menaces,  be- 
fore he  knows  the  meaning  of  crime,  he  has  already  felt 
its  torments.  Astonishing  infatuation  !  It  is  in  this  as- 
pect that  gloomy  religionists  have  presented  the  compas- 
sionate and  sustaining  hope  of  the  gospel.  Instead  of 
inspiring  sweet  and  consoling  ideas,  they  have  succeed- 
ed in  filling  innocence  with  remorse. 

The  other  prejudice  is  intolerance,  or  that  spirit  which 
causes  us  to  view  all  persons  guilty,  whose  faith  is  dif- 
ferent from  ours.  While  religion  enjoins  it  upon  us  to 
cover  the  faults  of  our  kind  with  a  veil  of  indulgence,  in- 
tolerance teaches  us  to  transform  their  opinions  into 
crimes.  Religion  rears  asylums  for  the  unfortunate  . — 
Intolerance  prepares  scaffolds  for  all  whom  she  chooses 
to  denominate  heretics.  The  one  invokes  ministers  of 
charity,  and  the  other,  executioners.  The  one  wipes 
away  tears,  and  the  other  sheds  blood. 

Intolerance  without  power  is  simply  ridiculous  j  but 
becomes  most  odious  when  armed  with  authority.  The 
cry  of  humanity  is  '  Peace  with  all  men.'  If  any  were 


163 


excepted,  it  should  be  the  intolerant.  Even  they  merit 
no  severer  punishment,  than  the  inflictions  of  their  own 
fury.  They  may  attain  to  deliverance  from  remorse  in 
their  confident  delirium,  and  may  count  their  crimes  as 
virtues,  through  the  influence  of  self-blindness.  But  this 
strange  obliquity  of  the  understanding,  this  horrible  in- 
toxication, repels  happiness.  Joy  and  peace  must  fly 
the  soul,  of  which  this  spirit  has  taken  possession. 

In  another  life,  the  measure  of  our  felicity  in  the  man- 
sions of  the  just,  will  be  the  happiness  we  have  created 
for  the  beings  around  us  in  this  fleeting  existence.  A 
religious  man  constantly  strives  to  render  this,  our  terres- 
trial sojourn,  more  like  the  abode  towards  which  his 
thoughts  are  elevated.  His  constant  occupation  is  to 
mitigate  suffering,  banish  prejudice  and  hatred,  and  calm 
the  fury  of  party.  All  his  relations  are  those  of  peace 
and  love.  Intolerant  men  !  Who,  of  your  number,  will 
hope  to  hear  it  said  of  him  in  the  retribution  of  the  just, 
'much  has  been  forgiven  him, because  he  has  loved  much?' 


LETTER    XXIII. 

OP     THE      RAPIDITY     OF     LIFE. 

IN  considering  the  different  ages  of  life,  the  first  senti- 
ment I  feel,  is  gratitude  for  the  variety  of  pleasures,  des- 
tined for  us  by  nature.  Thrice  happy  for  us,  if  we  knew 
how  to  taste  the  charms  of  all  the  situations  through 
which  we  pass !  Instead  of  this,  we  first  regret  infancy? 


164 


then  youth,  then  mature  age.     The  happy  period  is  al- 
ways that  which  is  no  more. 

It  is  a  great  folly  to  sadden  the  present,  in  looking 
back  upon  the  past,  as  though  it  had  been  darkened  by 
no  shadow  of  a  cloud.  The  sorrows  which  nature  sends 
us  in  infancy,  resemble  spring  showers,  the  traces  of 
which  are  effaced  by  a  passing  breeze.  The  pains  and 
alarms  of  each  age  have  been  chiefly  the  work  of  men. 
Who  cannot  remember  the  violent  palpitations  which 
he  felt,  when,  exposed  to  the  searching  jeye  of  his  com- 
panions, he  went  forward  to  excuse  his  not  having  pre- 
pared his  task,  his  translation  or  theme,  at  school  ?  I 
have  seen  situations  more  perilous,  since  that  time,  but 
no  misfortunes  have  awakened  more  bitterness,  than  the 
preference  granted  by  the  professor  to  the  theme  of 
another  over  mine.  The  beautiful  age,  for  a  frivolous 
being,  is  youth  ;  for  the  ambitious,  maturity ;  for  the 
recluse,  old  age  ;  for  a  reasonable  man,  each  age  :  for 
heaven  has  reserved  peculiar  pleasures  for  each. 

The  second  sentiment  1  experience,  in  contemplating 
life,  is,  regret  to  see  the  moments  so  rapidly  gliding  away. 
Time  flies,  and  days  and  years  steal  away  as  rapidly  as 
hours.  Still,  some  complain  of  the  burden  of  time,  and 
endure  cruel  suffering  from  not  knowing  how  to  em- 
ploy it. 

To  prolong  my  days,  I  will  neither  ask  the  elixir  of 
life  from  alchymists,  nor  precepts  from  physicians.  A 
severe  regimen  tends  to  abridge  life.  Multiplied  priva- 
tions give  a  sadness  to  the  spirit,  more  noxious  than  the 
prescribed  remedies  are  salutary.  Besides,  what  is 
physical  without  moral  life  ;  that  is  to  say,  improvement 
and  enjoyment  ?  Physicians  vaunt  the  miracles  of  ab- 


165 


stinence  and  a  careful  regimen  in  the  case  of  Cornaro, 
the  Venetian,  who  was  born  dying,  and  yet  spun  out  the 
thread  of  life  with  so  much  care  that  he  vegetated  a 
century.  To  attain  this  result,  he  weighed  his  aliment, 
and  marked  every  hour  of  the  day,  with  the  most  minute 
exactness.  Bacon  cites  the  casej  but  jests  upon  a 
man  who  believed  himself  living,  because,  in  fact,  he 
was  not  dead. 

Moderation,  cheerfulness  and  the  happy  employment 
of  time  furnish  the  best  means  of  living  as  many  days  as 
nature  permits  ;  and  the  regimen  of  philosophic  moralists 
has  an  effect  more  certain  than  that  of  physicians.57 

Every  one  has  observed  that  a  year  in  youth  presents 
a  long  perspective  ;  and  that  the  further  we  advance  in 
our  career,  the  more  the  course  of  time  seems  to  accel- 
erate.  Let  us  strive  to  investigate  the  causes  which  so 
modify  our  judgments,  with  a  view,  if  it  be  possible,  to 
avoid  them. 

There  is  one  inevitable  cause  —  experience.  At  six- 
teen, what  an  illimitable  prospective  space  is  seen  in  the 
sixteen  years  that  are  to  succeed  !  The  termination  of 
the  latter  period  is  lost  to  vision  in  the  future,  as  the 
commencement  of  the  first  years  are  effaced  from  the 
memory  of  the  past.  But,  in  touching  the  goal  which 
seemed  so  distant,  we  have  discovered  a  scale  by  which 
the  mind's  eye  measures  the  future.  Impatient  youth, 
burning  to  overleap  the  interval  which  separates  the  ob- 
ject from  the  desires,  strives  to  accelerate  the  tardy 
hours.  In  mature  age,  on  the  contrary,  seeing  every 
day  bringing  us  nearer  the  termination  of  our  career,  we 
begin  to  regret  the  want  of  power  to  arrest  the  march  of 
time,  Thus  our  weakness  hastens  the  flight  which  we 


166 

desire  to  delay.  Let  us  be  less  fearful  of  the  uncertain 
future,  and  the  hours  will  lose  their  desolating  swiftness. 

Finally,  in  our  youth,  all  objects  being  new,  produce 
the  vivid  impression  of  novelty.  Every  instant  is  filled 
with  landmarks  of  memory,  because  in  every  instant  a 
new  sensation  is  produced,  and  a  new  link  in  the  chain 
of  the  succession  of  ideas.  As  we  advance  in  time, 
objects  imperceptibly  cease  to  excite  our  curiosity.  We 
pass  by  beautiful  objects  and  striking  events  which  once 
filled  us  with  transport  or  surprise,  with  a  carelessness 
which  fails  to  fix  them  in  our  memory.  We  return 
mechanically  to  the  occupations  of  the  preceding  day, 
scarcely  noting  the  transit  of  those  monotonous  periods 
which  were  rendered  remarkable  neither  by  ennui  nor 
pleasure.  Let  us  avoid  this  mental  carelessness,  which 
gives  new  speed  to  the  flight  of  time,  and  is  so  fatal  to 
happiness.  Friends  of  humanity,  of  literature,  of  the 
arts  and  true  enjoyment,  let  us  preserve  the  rnind  in 
its  freshness,  the  imagination  in  its  youthful  brilliancy. 
Let  us  thus  arrest  the  happy  moments ;  and  let  us  pre- 
serve the  enthusiasm  of  youth  enlightened  by  the  taste 
of  mature  age,  for  everything  which  merits  our  admi- 
ration.58 

If  we  desire  that  our  days  should  not  be  abridged,  we 
must  love  retreat.  The  immediate  result  of  this  shelter 
is  to  keep  off  a  crowd  of  officious  and  indolent  people. 
There  are  those  who  would  not  think  of  taking  our  mo- 
ney, and  who  yet  will  steal  hours  and  days  from  us  with- 
out scruple.  They  seem  not  to  realize  the  value  of  these 
fractions  of  time  which  are  the  material  of  life. 

But  while  the  idle  rob  us  of  hours,  we  ourselves  sacri- 
fice years.  A  great  portion  of  our  race,  deafened  by 


167 

.  ^. 

the  clamor  of  the  passions,  agitated  by  feverish  dreams, 
are  scarcely  conscious  of  existence ;  and,  awakening 
for  a  moment,  at  death,  regret  that  they  have  been  long 
on  the  earth  and  yet  have  not  lived.  A  few  others, 
after  having  been  long  swept  onward  by  the  torrent, 
taught  at  last  by  experience,  resist,  land  and  fix  their 
sojourn  far  from  the  tumult ;  and,  finally,  begin  to  taste 
the  pleasant  consciousness  of  existence.  Why  not  pro- 
long these  final  hours  to  the  utmost  ?  If  our  pursuits 
interdict  us  from  the  independent  command  of  our  time, 
we  may,  at  least,  consecrate  portions  of  every  evening 
to  retreat,  in  order  to  review  the  past,  pause  on  the  pre- 
sent, and  prepare  for  the  future.  Thus,  making  every 
day  count  in  accumulating  the  pleasant  stores  of  memory, 
we  add  it  to  the  happy  days  of  the  past,  and  no  longer 
allow  life  to  vanish  like  a  dream. 

It  is,  more  than  all,  in  converse  with  ourselves  that 
we  give  a  right  direction  to  the  mind,  elevation  to  the 
soul,  and  gentleness  and  firmness  to  the  character.  Life 
is  a  book  in  which  we  every  day  read  a  page.  We 
ought  to  note  down  every  instructive  incident  that 
passes. 

The  admirable  Marcus  Aurelius  took  delight  in  con- 
verse with  himself;  and  learned  to  find  enjoyment  in 
the  present  by  extracting  from  the  past  lessons  for  the 
future.  I  never  fail  to  be  affected  when  I  read  the 
account  which  he  gives  of  all  those  persons  whose  cares 
had  concurred  to  form  his  character  and  his  manners. 
1 1  learned,'  says  he,  ''of  my  grandfather  Verus,  to  be 
gentle  and  complaisant. 

'  The  reputation  which  my  father  left,  and  the  mem- 
ory of  his  good  actions  which  has  been  preserved, 


168 


taught  me  modesty.  My  mother  formed  me  to  piety, 
taught  me  to  be  liberal,  and  not  even  to  meditate,  still 
less,  to  do  a  wrong. 

'  I  owe  it  to  my  governor  that  I  am  patient  of  labor, 
indulge  few  wants,  know  how  to  work  with  my  own 
hands,  meddle  with  no  business  that  does  not  concern 
me,  and  give  no  encouragement  to  informers. 

'  Diognetus  taught  me  not  to  be  amused  with  frivoli- 
ties, to  yield  no  credit  to  charlatans  and  enchanters,  and 
to  have  no  faith  in  conjurations,  demons  and  supersti- 
tions of  that  sort.  I  learned  of  him  to  permit  every  one 
to  speak  to  me  with  entire  freedom,  and  to  apply  myseif 
wholly  to  philosophy. 

'Rusticus  made  me  perceive  that  I  needed  to  correct 
my  manners,  that  T  ought  to  avoid  the  pride  of  the 
sophists,  and  not  use  effort  to  inspire  the  people  with 
admiration  of  my  patience  and  austerity  of  life  ;  to  be 
always  ready  to  pardon  those  who  had  offended  me, 
and  to  receive  them  kindly  whenever  they  were  disposed 
to  resume  their  former  intercourse. 

'  I  learned  of  Apollonius  to  be  at  the  same  time 
frank  and  firm  in  my  designs,  to  follow  no  guide  but  my 
reason,  even  in  the  smallest  matters,  and  to  be  always 
composed,  even  under  the  most  acute  sufferings.  By 
his  example  I  was  instructed  that  it  is  possible  to  be  at 
once  severe  and  gentle. 

'  Sextus  taught  me  to  govern  my  house  as  a  good 
father,  to  preserve  a  simple  gravity  without  affectation, 
to  attempt  to  divine  and  anticipate  the  wishes  and  neces- 
sities of  my  friends ;  to  endure,  with  calmness  and  pa- 
tience, the  ignorant  and  presumptuous  who  speak  with- 
out thinking  what  they  say  ;  and  to  sustain  relations  of 
kindness  with  all. 


169 


4 1  learned  from  Alexander,  the  grammarian,  in  dispu- 
tation to  use  no  injurious  words  in  reply  to  my  antago- 
nist. 

4  Fronto  taught  me  to  know  that  kings  are  surrounded 
by  the  envious,  by  knaves  and  hypocrites. 

4  Alexander,  the  Platonist,  instructed  me  never  to  say 
or  to  write  to  any  person  interceding  for  my  interest, 
44  I  have  had  no  time  to  attend  to  your  affairs  j"  nor  to 
allege,  as  an  excuse,  "  1  have  been  overwhelmed  with 
business  ;"  but  to  be  always  prompt  to  render  all  those 
good  offices  which  the  bonds  of  society  demand. 

4 1  owe  to  my  brother  Severus,  the  love  which  I  have 
for  truth  and  justice.  From  him  I  derived  the  desire  to 
govern  my  states  by  equal  laws,  and  to  reign  in  such  a 
manner  as  that  my  subjects  might  possess  perfect  liberty. 

4 1  thank  the  Divinity  for  having  given  me  virtuous 
ancestors,  a  good  father,  a  good  mother,  a  good  sister, 
good  preceptors  and  good  friends ;  in  a  word,  all  the 
good  things  1  could  have  desired.'59 

A  crowd  of  useful  thoughts  cannot  but  flow  from  such 
self-converse.  Hold  every  day  one  of  these  solitary 
conversations  with  yourself.  This  is  the  way  in  which 
to  attain  the  highest  relish  of  existence  ;  and,  if  I  may 
so  say,  to  cast  anchor  in  the  river  of  life. 


15 


170 
LETTER    XXIV. 

ON    DEATH. 

IF  we  were  to  allow  ourselves  to  express  the  wish 
that  we  might  never  die,  an  absurd  wish  which,  perhaps, 
every  man  has  sometimes  indulged,  a  moralist  might  say, 
'  Suppose  it  were  granted,  where  would  be  the  end  of 
dissension,  hatred,  revenge  ?  Where  would  the  victim 
whom  injustice  pursues,  find  an  asylum  and  repose?' 
To  all  this  it  is  sufficient  to  reply,  that  if  we  accuse 
nature  for  having  subjected  us  to  the  penalty  of  death, 
we  have  not  less  reason  to  accuse  her  for  having  often 
rendered  death  desirable,  as  a  relief  from  greater  evils. 
Instead  of  showing  herself  so  niggardly  in  bestowing 
happy  moments,  why  did  she  not  spare  humanity  the 
evils  that  render  death  a  comparative  release. 

There  are,  as  I  believe,  more  solid  reasons  to  justify 
nature  in  rendering  death  an  inevitable  allotment.  When, 
undertaking  to  reform  the  universe  in  my  day  dreams, 
I  render  our  earthly  existence  eternal,  I  find  no  diffi- 
culty in  imagining  all  the  evils  which  afflict  us  removed. 
But  I  strain  my  imagination  to  no  purpose  to  give  form 
and  reality  to  those  pleasures  which  shall  be  adequate 
to  replace  those  which  this  new  order  of  things  cannot 
admit.  Suppose  that  it  were  no  longer  necessary  that 
generation  should  succeed  generation ;  and  that  death 
were  banished  from  the  earth.  The  same  beings, 
without  hopes  or  fears,  would  always  cover  its  surface. 
No  more  loves  ;  no  more  parental  tenderness ;  no  more 


171 


filial  piety  !  Flattering  hopes  forsake  the  bosom  along 
with  enchanting  remembrances.  All  those  affections 
which  give  value  to  life  owe  their  existence  to  death.60 

Our  prejudices  transform  death  into  a  terrible  spectre, 
accompanied  by  frightful  dreams.  The  dark  and  anti- 
social doctrine,  that  we  were  placed  on  the  earth  for 
the  punishment  of  exile,  and  that  we  ought  never  to 
intermit  our  contemplation  of  the  grave,  was  imagined 
by  hypocrites,  who  preached  to  others  contempt  of  the 
world,  that  they  might  appropriate  it  to  themselves.  A 
wise  man  sees  in  existence  a  gift  which  he  ought  not  to 
sacrifice.  In  learning  how  to  live,  he  instructs  himself 
how  to  die. 

We  must  sometimes  look  Death  in  the  face  to  judge 
how  we  shall  be  able  to  sustain  his  approach.61  It  is 
not  necessary  often  to  repeat  this  stern  examination 
which  presents  gloomy  ideas,  even  to  minds  the  most 
disciplined.  Another  manner  of  contemplating  the  final 
scene  offers  all  the  useful  results  of  the  first,  and  presents 
nothing  afflicting.  It  consists  in  observing  the  influence 
which  death  ought  to  exercise  over  life.  This  term, 
unknown,  but  always  near,  should  render  our  duties 
more  sacred,  our  affections  more  tender,  our  pleasures 
more  vivid.  In  noting  the  rapidity  of  the  flight  of  time, 
a  wise  man  seizes  upon  those  ideas  which  disturb  the 
hours  of  the  multitude,  to  enhance  the  charm  of  his  own 
thoughts.  It  was  not  without  an  aim  that  certain  of  the 
ancient  philosophers  placed  in  their  festal  hall  a  death's 
head  decked  with  roses. 

Those  who  say  that  death  is  nothing,  may  be  thought 
to  affect  the  semblance  of  courage.  They  speak,  in 
fact,  only  one  of  the  simplest  truths.  The  term  death 


172 


is  the  sign  of  a  purely  negative  idea ;  and  denotes  an 
instant  impossible  for  thought  to  measure.  It  is  not  yet 
death,  or  it  is  past ;  and  there  is  no  interval. 

Without  doubt,  the  circumstances  which  precede  it 
are  extremely  afflicting.  Sudden  deaths  ought  to  cost 
us  fewer  tears  than  any  others.  Yet  we  hear  it  repeated, 
with  a  sigh,  '  the  unfortunate  sufferer  lingered  but  a  few 
hours.'  Was  not  that  space  sufficiently  long  when  the 
moments  were  counted  by  agony  ?  Let  us  not  tinge  our 
views  by  the  coloring  of  egotism  ;  and  we  shall  perceive 
in  this  prompt  departure,  two  motives  for  consolation ; 
that  the  deceased,  whom  we  regret,  saw  not  the  long 
approach  of  death  in  advance ;  and,  that,  in  meeting  it, 
he  experienced  a  brief  pang.  Such  an  end  is  worthy 
of  envy,  and  is  the  last  benefit  of  heaven. 

So  died  my  father,  the  best  of  fathers,  whom  every 
one  recognised  by  his  force  of  character,  his  gentleness 
and  serenity.  He  did  not  dazzle,  either  by  his  vivacity  of 
mind,  or  the  variety  of  his  acquirements.  But  he  so  said 
the  simplest  things  as  to  render  them  the  best.  During 
sixty  five  years  he  shared  the  pains  of  others,  but  never 
added  to  them.  One  day,  having  experienced  unac- 
customed fatigue,  he  retired  early,  and  a  few  moments 
after,  slept  in  death.  Such  a  death,  without  pain  and 
alarm,  was  worthy  of  a  life  so  pure  that,  to  render -him 
happy  in  the  life  to  come,  it  would  be  only  necessary  to 
leave  him  the  remembrance  of  what  he  had  been  and 
what  he  had  done  upon  upon  earth. 

A  fact  recognised  by  numberless  observing  physicians 
is,  that  the  last  agony  of  a  good  man  is  rarely  violent. 
It  is  probable,  that  in  regard  to  all  forms  of  death,  man- 
kind generally  entertain  the  most  erroneous  conceptions. 


173 


The  vulgar,  naturally  embracing  ideas  that  terrify  them, 
believe  that  the  dissolution  of  our  earthly  being  is  ac- 
companied by  all  conceivable  torments.  It  is  probable, 
on  the  contrary,  that,  in  entering  upon  eternal  repose, 
we  experience  sensations  analogous  to  those  of  a  wearied 
man  who  feels  the  sweet  influence  of  sleep  stealing 
gently  upon  him. 

These  sensations,  it  is  true,  can  be  imagined  to  belong 
only  to  the  last  moments.  Cruel  maladies  may  precede 
them.  But  it  would  seem  that  nature  invariably  em- 
ploys some  means  to  mitigate  the  evils  which  she  inflicts. 
Among  mortal  diseases,  those  which  are  severely  pain- 
ful are  equally  rapid ;  while  those  which  are  slow  in 
their  progress  are  comparatively  free  from  pain.  They 
allow  the  patient  time  to  accustom  himself  to  the  idea 
of  his  departure.  It  is  common  for  those  who  die  in 
this  way  to  close  their  career  in  the  indulgence  of  dreamy 
and  melancholy  musings,  solacing  themselves  alternately 
by  resignation  and  hope. 

A  spectacle,  touching  to  the  heart,  and,  unhappily,  too 
common,  is  presented  in  the  case  of  a  fair  and  florid 
young  woman  struck  with  a  pulmonary  malady.  Abso- 
lute unconsciousness  of  danger  often  accompanies  this 
cruel  disease  to  the  last  moment.  We  are  perfectly 
aware  that  the  patient  cannot  survive  the  coming  winter. 
We  hear  her  pantingly  discuss  the  projects  which  she 
expects  to  execute  with  her  companions  when  health 
and  spring  shall  return.  The  contrast  of  her  daily  in- 
creasing debility  with  her  gentle  gay ety,  and  of  her  future 
projects,  with  the  rapid  approach  of  death,  makes  the 
heart  bleed.  Every  one  is  pained  for  her  but  herself. 
The  hectic  fever  imparts  a  kind  of  joyous  inspiration  ; 
15* 


174 


and  nature,  to  absolve  itself  for  inflicting  death  on  one 
so  young,  leads  her  to  her  last  hour  in  tranquil  security. 
Death  is  to  her  as  a  sleep. 

It  is  certain  that  physical  sufferings  are  not  those 
which  infuse  the  utmost  bitterness  into  this  last  cup. 
The  gloomy  thoughts  with  which  death  is  invested  are 
excited  much  more  keenly  by  those  affections  which 
attach  us  to  earth  and  our  kind.  We  may  well  hold  the 
understanding  of  those  ambitious  persons  in  disdain  who 
instruct  us,  that  when  they  have  finished  their  vast  pro- 
jects their  days  shall  thenceforward  glide  in  peace  and 
serenity.  Death  uniformly  surprises  them,  tormenting 
themselves  in.  the  pursuit  of  their  shadows.  Others, 
with  less  show  of  stupidity,  repine  because  death  strikes 
them  reposing  upon  their  pleasures.  Their  groans  are 
caused  by  having  forgotten  the  rapidity  and  evanescence 
of  their  joys.  They  had  not  known  how  to  give  them 
an  additional  charm  in  saying,  '  we  possess  them  but  for 
a  day.' 

But  suppose  we  regret  neither  ambitious  projects  nor 
transient  pleasures,  may  we  not  wish  to  live  longer  for 
our  children  ?  I  attempt  not  to  inculcate  an  impractica- 
ble or  exaggerated  system.  There  is  a  situation  in 
which  death  is  fearful.  There  is  a  period  in  which  it 
would  seem  as  if  man  ought  not  to  die.  It  commences 
when  one  has  become  a  parent,  and  terminates  when 
his  sustaining  hand  is  no  longer  indispensable  to  his 
family. 

If  nature  call  us  to  quit  life  before  this  epoch,  all  con- 
solations resemble  the  remedies  which  palliate  the  pains 
of  the  dying,  without  possessing  efficacy  to  remove  them. 
Still  we  dare  not  so  outrage  nature  as  to  believe  that 


175 


there  can  exist  a  situation  in  which  a  good  man  can  find 
no  alleviation  for  his  sorrows.  In  quitting  a  life  which 
he  would  wish  to  retain  longer,  for  the  happiness  of 
those  most  dear  to  him,  he  may  derive  force  and  mag- 
nanimity from  the  thought  that  he  owes  it  to  himself  to 
leave  an  example  of  courage  and  decent  dignity  in  the 
last  act ;  that  he  may  show  the  influence  of  piety,  resig- 
nation, the  hope  of  a  good  man,  and  the  discipline  of 
that  philosophy  which  forbids  its  disciple  to  struggle 
against  the  inevitable  lot. 

The  approach  of  death  always  brings  associations  of 
gloom  when  it  comes  in  advance  of  old  age,  to  destroy 
the  tender  affections.  In  the  slow  and  natural  course 
of  years,  it  is  an  event  as  simple,  as  little  to  be  depre- 
cated, as  the  other  occurrences  of  life.  Alas  !  during  a 
short  sojourn,  we  see  those  who  were  most  dear  con- 
tinually falling  around  us.  We  soon  retain  a  less  num- 
ber with  us  than  exist  already  in  another  world.  The 
family  is  divided.  I  am  not  surprised  that  it  becomes  a 
matter  of  indifference  to  a  wise  man  to  remain  with  his 
present  friends,  or  go  and  rejoin  those  that  are  absent. 

As  long  as  our  children  have  need  of  our  support, 
we  resemble  a  traveller  charged  with  business  of  ex- 
treme importance.  As  soon  as  these  cares  become 
useless,  we  resemble  him  who  travels  at  leisure  and  by 
chance ;  and  who  takes  up  his  lodging  for  the  night 
wherever  the  setting  sun  surprises  him.  For  me,  I  see 
the  second  epoch  drawing  near.  If  I  reach  it,  I  shall 
bless  heaven  for  having  awarded  me  a  sufficient  number 
of  years,  and  for  having  diffused  over  them  so  few 
pains. 

Let  us  not  charge  that  man  with  weakness  who,  when 


176 


on  the  eve  of  departure  for  distant  and  untravelled 
countries,  is  perceived  to  impart  the  intonation  and  ten- 
derness of  sorrow  to  his  adieus.  Ought  we  to  exact 
more  of  him  whom  death  is  about  to  conduct  to  that 
*  undiscovered  country  from  whose  bourne  no  traveller 
returns  ?'  I  would  not  seem  to  affect  an  austere  and 
unnatural  courage.  But  whenever  delivered  from  the 
only  heart-rending  agony,  I  will  hope  and  strive  to  pre- 
serve sufficient  tranquillity  of  mind  to  impress  the  senti- 
ment on  those  I  love,  that  we  ought,  with  becoming  dig- 
nity, to  submit  ourselves  to  the  immutable  laws  of  nature  ; 
that  complaint  is  useless,  and  murmuring  unjust ;  and 
that  it  becomes  us,  with  transient  but  subdued  emotion, 
to  say,  as  we  receive  the  final  embrace,  '  may  we  meet 
again !' 


LETTER    XXV. 

CONCLUSION    OP    «DROZ    SUE     L'AET    D'ETRE    HEU- 
EEUSE.' 

1  SHALL  have  attained  my  purpose  if  these  sketches 
should  produce  any  degree  of  conviction  that  man,  in 
exercising  his  faculties,  can  mitigate  his  pains  and  multiply 
his  pleasures,  and,  consequently,  should  serve  as  the  out- 
lines of  a  plan  for  reducing  the  pursuit  of  happiness  to  an 
art.  I  am  aware  that  ho  view  could  be  offered  more 
contrary  to  the  prevalent  opinions  in  society.  The  morose 
and  the  frivolous  make  common  cause  to  attack  it.  To 


177 


them  the  very  idea  seems  absurd  ;  and  the  most  indul- 
gent among  them  question  the  good  faith  of  him  who 
announces  it.62 

To  such  grave  and  learned  authorities,  and  more, 
even  to  the  general  suffrage  against  it,  I  might  dare  to 
oppose  counterbalancing  authorities.  From  Socrates  to 
Franklin,  I  see  philosophers  who  have  been  persuaded 
that  man  may  be  directed  in  the  art,  and  instructed  in 
the  science  of  happiness  ;  and  that  his  faculties  may  be 
enlarged  to  pursue  it.  Who  are  the  men  that  have  enter- 
tained this  persuasion  ?  The  very  elite  of  the  human  race. 
Was  each  individual  of  them  surrounded  by  those  happy 
circumstances  which  would  naturally  inspire  the  same 
philosophy  ?  They  were  persons  who  had  experienced 
all  the  conditions  of  life.  As  if  nature  had  studied  to 
prove,  by  great  examples,  that  our  happiness  depends 
upon  our  reason  more  than  upon  our  circumstances,  Epic- 
tetus  lived  in  chains,  and  Marcus  Aurelius  on  a  throne. 

We  justly  render  homage  to  the  Greek  philosophers. 
Is  their  glory  founded  on  their  physics,  long  since  known 
to  be  full  of  errors,  or  their  metaphysics,  often  puerile  ? 
Upon  neither  ;  but  they  have  merited  the  veneration  of 
ages  by  indicating  principles,  the  practice  of  which, 
would  render  us  better  and  more  happy. 

Which  of  the  sciences  did  the  admirable  Socrates 
chiefly  esteem  ?  The  single  one  which  teaches  us  how 
to  live  as  we  ought.  Let  it  not  be  said  that  I  substitute 
one  science  for  another;  and  that  Socrates  taught 
morals,  and  not  my  pretended  science  of  happiness. 
With  the  Greeks,  morals  had  a  perfectly  definite  end. 
Their  philosophers  held  all  their  teaching  subservient  to 
conducting  their  disciples  to  happiness.  Illustrious  men ! 


178 


we  disdain  their  maxims,  but  still  revere  their  names. 
What  fruit  have  we  obtained  from  the  boasted  light  and 
improvement  of  the  age  ?  We  speak  with  enthusiasm 
of  those  sciences  which  they  judged  frivolous  ;  and  we 
treat  as  chimerical  those  studies  which  they  judged 
alone  worthy  of  human  nature. 

Suppose  it  had  been  said  to  these  philosophers,  '  you 
will  never  reform  the  human  race ;  and,  instead  of 
profitless  dreams  about  wisdom  and  happiness,  you 
ought  to  desist  from  subjects  so  futile,  and  consecrate 
your  vigils  to  sciences  more  worthy  to  occupy  your 
thoughts.'  Would  they  not  have  smiled  with  pity  upon 
such  counsel?  Had  they  deigned  to  reply,  would  they 
not  have  said,  '  We  are  well  aware  that  we  shall  not 
purify  the  heart  of  the  wicked  of  its  pride,  envy, 
cupidity ;  but  shall  we  derive  no  glory  from  having 
confirmed  some  good  men  in  their  career  ?  In  the 
midst  of  storms  we  .fell  our  energies  invigorated  as  we 
perceived  that  our  spirits  were  in  accordance  with  theirs. 
However  feeble  may  have  been  the  influence  of  our 
writings,  affront  not  humanity  by  supposing  that  ours, 
however  partial  may  have  been  their  circulation,  will, 
nowhere,  find  minds  worthy  to  profit  by  them.  Per- 
haps they  will  kindle  the  holy  love  of  virtue  in  some  of 
those  who  may  read  them  in  the  youthful  age  of  unso- 
phisticated and  generous  resolutions.  Few,  who  read, 
will  practise  our  doctrine  in  all  its  extent.  Almost  every 
one  will  be  indebted  to  it  for  some  solitary  principles. 
It  is  possible  we  may  never  have  numerous  disciples. 
But  we  shall  have  some  in  all  countries  and  in  all  time. 
It  is  a  truth  that  ought  to  satisfy  us,  that  such  discussions 
are  based  neither  upon  exaggeration  nor  revery.  The 


179 

science  of  happiness  would  indeed  be  chimerical  if  we 
expected  that  it  would  impart  the  same  charms  to  all 
predicaments  in  which  our  lot  might  cast  us.  Instead 
of  indulging  such  visionary  hopes,  if  these  discussions 
dissipate  the  errors  which  veil  the  true  good  from  our 
eyes,  if  we  learn  to  bring  together  all  the  easy  and  inno- 
cent pleasures,  and  to  render  the  painful  moments  of 
life  more  rapid,  we  have  been  taught  an  art  which  it  is 
possible  to  demonstrate  and  improve  to  an  indefinite 
extent.' 

Does  this  art  appear  difficult?  Let  any  one  be 
named  which  it  exacts  no  effort  to  acquire.  Will  it  be 
thought  that  it  cannot  become  of  general  utility  ?  Will 
professors,  of  the  highest  reputation,  cease  to  teach  elo- 
quence because  they  do  not  form  as  many  orators  as 
they  have  pupils  ?  The  more  maturely  I  have  reflected 
upon  the  art  in  question,  the  more  clearly  I  am  con- 
vinced that  it  may  be  assimilated  to  the  other  arts.  It 
differs  from  them  only  in  its  superior  importance.  The 
interest  and  attention  that  all  the  rest  merit  should  be 
measured  only  by  their  relation,  more  or  less  direct,  to 
this  first  of  all  arts.  To  settle  the  utility  of  any  science, 
law,  enterprise,  or  action,  I  know  no  better  measure 
than  to  note  its  influence  on  human  happiness. 

If  moral  lessons  leave  but  a  transient  influence,  it  may 
be  attributed  to  two  principal  causes  ;  the  weakness  of 
our  nature,  and  the  contagion  of  example.  A  third  be- 
longs to  those  who  teach  us  the  doctrine  of  morals,  and 
is  found  in  their  exaggeration  of  their  doctrine.  They 
elevate  the  altar  of  wisdom  upon  steep  mountains  ;  and 
discourage  our  first  steps,  by  proclaiming  the  painful  ef- 
forts necessary  to  scale  them.  From  the  sadness  of  the 


180 


ministers  of  the  worship,  it  would  not  be  inferred,  that 
the  divinity  of  the  place  was  liberal  in  dispensing  pure^ 
pleasures,  bright  hopes,  oblivion  of  pain,  and  remem- 
brances almost  as  pleasant  as  either. 

It  is  a  fatal  error  to  imagine  that  it  is  useful  to  exag- 
gerate the  doctrine  of  morals.  To  do  this,  fails  not  to 
excite  disgust  towards  the  precepts  inculcated.  Men, 
that  have  been  deceived  upon  these  points,  as  soon  as 
they  judge  for  themselves,  in  their  impatience  to  shake 
off  the  yoke  of  prejudices,  are  tempted  to  reject  princi- 
ples the  most  wise  with  those  errors  by  which  they  have 
been  misled.  That  we  may  be  heard  and  followed,  let 
us  be  true.  Let  us  present,  with  force,  the  evils  which 
the  abuse  of  our  faculties  brings  upon  our  short  career. — 
Let  us  avow  with  equal  frankness,  that  we  commit  an 
egregious  mistake,  if  we  refuse,  or  neglect  to  draw  from 
our  faculties  all  the  advantages  in  our  power,  to  embel- 
lish life. 

The  doctrine  of  morals  is  a  phrase  that  has  been  often 
employed  to  designate  the  propagation  of  false  and  ex- 
travagant principles.  For  this  phrase,  which  is  too  worn 
out,  and  of  equivocal  import,  suppose  we  substitute  a  de- 
finition, which  will  clearly  indicate  the  end,  towards 
which,  morals  ought  to  be  directed.  Morals  is  that  which 
teaches  the  art  of  happiness.  If  it  be  not  so,  the  foun- 
dation of  ethics  is  a  mere  matter  of  convention,  either 
useless  or  dangerous. 

Morals  should  be  taught  only  as  subservient  to  happi- 
ness. Austerity  should  be  banished  equally  from  the 
manner  of  teaching  and  from  the  matter  that  is  taught.  — 
They  are  the  useful  teachers,  whose  tenderness  oi  heart 
impels  them  rather  to  inspire  virtue  than  to  enjoin  it ;  and 


181 


xvhose  brilliant  imagination  enables  them  to  offer  wise 
principles  under  such  pleasant  forms  as  charm  the  mind 
and  awaken  curiosity.  If  1  were  to  point  to  one  of 
the  best  works  on  morals,  according  to  my  judgment,  I 
would  name  '  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.'  To  present  a 
family  struggling  with  every  form  pf  misfortune,  and  con- 
stantly opposing  resignation  or  courage  to  each,  is  to 
offer  the  sublimest  painting  that  it  is  possible  to  execute. 
The  concurrence  of  genius  and  virtue  could  alone  have 
conceived  the  idea.  All  good  men  owe  the  tribute  of 
gratitude  and  veneration  to  the  memory  of  the  author. 

The  concurrent  influence  of  public  institutions  and  ed- 
ucation would  be  necessary  to  render  the  general  habits 
conformable  to  happiness.  Books,  the  influence  of 
which  I  certainly  have  not  exaggerated,  may  be  useful 
to  men,  raised  by  the  discipline  of  their  reason  above 
the  multitude.  That  man  is  happy,  who  knows  how  to 
add  good  books  to  the  number  of  his  friends,  who  often 
retires  from  the  world  to  enjoy  their  peaceful  and  in- 
structive conversation,  and  always  brings  back  serenity, 
courage  and  hope. 

Were  the  doctrine  true,  that  it  is  impossible  to  increase 
the  happiness  or  diminish  the  evils  of  life,  it  is  not  per- 
ceived that  it  would  not  still  be  necessary  to  follow  my 
principles.  Preach  this  discouraging  doctrine  to  a  good 
man,  and  you  may  afflict  him,  but  will  obtain  no  influ- 
ence over  his  conduct.  He  will  always  strive  to  im- 
prove his  condition,  mitigate  the  sufferings  that  press  up- 
on him,  and  render  men  more<compassionate  and  happy. 
Such  noble  efforts  cannot  be  entirely  lost.  The  pure  in- 
tentions, the  sincere  wishes,  which  he  forms  for  the  good 
16 


182 


of  his  kind,  give  to  his  mind  a  pleasant  serenity.  It  as- 
sures his  own  happiness  to  meditate  the  means  of  increas- 
ing that  of  others. 


LETTER    XXVI. 

THE    CHOICE    OP    A    PROFESSION. 

THE  considerate  Knight  of  La  Mancha  would  not  dis- 
miss his  follower  and  friend  to  the  government  of  Bara- 
taria,  without  a  few  more  last  words,  and  without  arming 
him  for  his  high  functions  with  a  copious  homily  of  coun- 
sels and  admonitions.  Before  I  leave  you  to  the  stern 
encounter  of  the  painful  emergencies  of  life,  to  unravel  its 
intricacies,  and  settle  its  innumerable  perplexing  and  dif- 
ficult alternatives,  I  do  not  mean  to  oppress  your  mem- 
ory with  the  thousand  and  one  particular  directions, 
to  meet  every  imaginable  occurrence  with  the  right  mode 
of  conduct.  Innumerable  cases  of  perplexity  will  be  con- 
tinually occurring,  that  can  only  be  settled  by  extempore 
judgment  and  prudence.  I  shall  limit  rny  counsels  to  a 
single  one  among  the  many  questions  of  universal  applica- 
tion, each  one  of  which  present  a  great  variety  of  aspects 
and  alternatives ;  questions  of  difficult  solution  for  the 
young;  and  yet  on  the  right  disposal  of  which  depend  their 
character,  success  and  happiness  in  life.  Among  the  sub- 
jects to  which  I  refer,  are,  the  choice  of  a  profession  —  de- 
cision in  regard  to  our  plans  and  projects  —  the  selection 
(>f  our  company  —  the  dispositions  with  which  we  should 


183 

regard  the  place  assigned  us  in  society  —  the  deportment 
appropriate  to  gentlemen  and  ladies  —  the  proper  se- 
lection of  books  —  the  mode  and  place  of  worship,  and 
what  are  the  best  evidences  of  true  wisdom  in  character. 
The  first  of  these  is  the  only  one  upon  which  I  shall  offer 
you  my  remarks. 

In  the  choice  of  a  profession,  the  first  point  to  be  con- 
sulted is  our  physical  and  mental  temperament  and 
endowment,  or  aptitude.  That  some  are  constitut- 
ed for  sedentary  and  inactive  pursuits,  others  to  beat 
the  anvil,  follow  the  plough,  or  mount  the  reeling 
mast  with  a  firm  step  in  the  uproar  of  a  tempest ;  some 
for  the  bar,  others  for  the  pulpit,  and  still  others  to  be 
musicians,  painters,  poets  o/  engineers,  I  consider  a 
truth  so  universally  and  obviously  taught  by  observation 
and  experience,  that  I  shall  not  deem  it  necessary  to 
pause  to  prove  it  to  such  as  would  contest  it.  I  am  suf- 
ficiently informed  that  there  are  those  who  contend  that 
all  minds  are  formed  equal  and  alike  —  and  that  all  the 
after  differences  result  from  education  and  circumstances. 
With  them,  Virgil  and  Byron  had  no  constitutional  apti- 
tudes to  poetry,  and  the  same  training  that  gave  Handel 
and  Gluck  their  preeminence  in  music,  would  have  im- 
parted to  any  other  mind  equal  skill.  According  to  their 
system,  La  Place  and  Zerah  Colburn  were  no  earlier  or 
more  strongly  inclined  to  mathematics,  than  other  child- 
ren. These  sapient  physiologists  in  descending  to  the 
animal  tribes,  ought  to  find,  that  web-footed  animals  had 
no  natural  aptitude  for  water,  the  canine  tribes  for  ani- 
mal food,  and  the  ruminating,  to  feed  on  grass  and  veg- 
etables. I  shall  leave  those  who  hold  this  dogma  to  re- 
gain it  unquestioned  50  far  as  I  am  concerned  ;  and  they 


184 


will  be  obliged  to  leave  me  to  mine,  which  is,  that  there 
are  immense  differences  in  the  physical  and  mental  con- 
stitution, differences  which  every  enlightened  parent  dis- 
covers in  his  children  from  the  very  dawn  of  their  facul- 
ties —  differences  which  every  intelligent  instructer  notes 
in  his  pupils,  as  soon  as  he  becomes  intimately  acquaint- 
ed with  them  —  differences  which,  to  keen  and  close  ob- 
servation, distinguish  more  or  less  each  individual  in  the 
immense  mass  of  society.  No  matter  how  much  alike 
these  persons  are  reared  and  trained  ;  the  most  striking 
diversities  of  endowment  are  often  observed  in  members 
of  the  same  family,  reared  and  educated  with  all  possi- 
ble uniformity.  This  is,  no  doubt,  a  beautiful  trait  of  that 
general  impress  of  variety,  which  providence  has  marked 
upon  every  portion  of  the  animate  and  inanimate  crea- 
tion. Nature  has  willed,  that  not  only  men  should  pos- 
sess an  untiring  diversity  of  form,  countenance  and  mind, 
but  that  not  two  pebbles  on  the  shore,  or  insects  in  the 
air,  should  be  found  precisely  alike.  The  sign  manual 
of  the  Creator  on  his  works  is  a  grand  and  infinite  variety. 

The  physiological  inquiry  whence  these  differences 
of  temperament  and  aptitude  arise,  is  one,  which  belongs 
to  another  subject ;  though  I  have  no  wish  to  conceal  my 
belief,  that  the  fundamental  positions  of  phrenology  are 
as  immovably  founded  in  fact,  and  as  certainly  follow 
from  observation,  as  the  leading  axioms  of  any  physical 
science.  It  is  enough  for  my  present  purpose,  that  the 
order  of  every  form  of  society  calls  for  an  infinite  variety 
of  aptitude,  talent  and  vocation,  and  that  nature  has  fur- 
nished the  requisite  variety  of  endowment,  adequately  to 
meet  those  calls. 

The  ancient  system,  still  in  use,  goes  on  the  supposi- 


185 


lion,  that  all  minds  are  originally  alike ;  and  that  all  child- 
ren are  equally  fit  to  be  trained  for  each  of  the  vocations. 
Hence  we  see  tailors  at  the  anvil,  and  blacksmiths  on 
the  shopboard,  innumerable  excellent  ploughmen  generat- 
ing prose,  and  sleeping  at  the  bar  and  pulpit,  and  ingenious 
fiddlers  ruined  as  engineers ;  in  a  word,  all  that  ludicrous 
disarrangement  and  seeming  play  at  cross  purposes,  in 
virtue  of  which,  men,  who  would  have  been  borne,  by  a 
strong  current,  to  the  first  place  in  the  profession  for 
which  nature  designed  them,  become  dull  and  useless  in 
another.  A  great  part  of  the  whole  labor  of  instruction 
has  thus  been  worse  than  thrown  away.  It  has  been  the 
hard  effort  of  poetic  fiction,  laboring  the  huge  stone  up 
an  acclivity,  to  see  it  recoil  and  hear  it  thunder  back 
again ;  the  effort  to  circumvent,  and  cross  the  purposes  of 
nature. 

It  seems  to  me  to  be  among  the  most  responsible  in- 
quiries of  a  parent  and  a  conscientious  instructer,  what 
pursuit  or  calling  is  indicated  for  his  child  by  his  tempera- 
ment and  aptitude  ?  The  boy,  who,  like  Pope,  even  in 
childhood  lisps  in  numbers,  because  the  numbers  come, 
will  probably  be  found  to  have  not  only  an  ear  for  the 
peculiar  harmony  of  rhythm,  but  an  inventive  mind,  stored 
with  images,  and  a  quick  eye  to  catch  the  various  phases 
of  nature  and  society.  If  placed  under  favorable  cir- 
cumstances, and  judicious  training,  this  child  will  become 
a  poet,  while  ninetynine  in  a  hundred  of  those,  who 
make  verses,  could  by  no  forcing  of  nature  ever  rise 
higher  than  rhymers.  Thus  may  be  detected  the  em- 
bryo germs  of  temperament,  endowment  and  character, 
which  give  the  undeveloped  promise  of  the  future  orator, 
lawyer,  mathematician,  naturalist,  mechanician,  in  a  word, 
16* 


186 


of  the  mind  fitted  to  attain  distinction  in  any  walk  in  so- 
ciety. I  am  aware  of  the  mistakes,  which  fond  and  dot- 
ing parents  are  likely  to  make,  in  interpreting  an  equiv- 
ocal, perhaps  an  accidental  sally  of  the  cherished  child, 
to  be  a  sure  proof  of  genius  and  endowment.  No  judi- 
cious and  intelligent  parent  will  be  in  much  danger  of  be- 
ing led  astray  by  fondness  so  weak  and  misguided.  — 
Wherever  real  endowment  exists,  it  never  fails  to  put 
forth  continual  indications.  It  is  the  elastic  vigor  of  na- 
ture working  at  the  root,  to  which  no  foolish  partiality 
will  be  blind. 

It  is  true,  that  nature,  equally  beneficent  in  what  she 
has  granted,  and  what  she  has  withheld,  forms  the  mil- 
lion for  the  common  duties  and  undistinguished  employ- 
ments j  stamps  them  at  once  with  a  characteristic  uni- 
formity and  variety  j  and  sends  them  forth  with  specific 
adaptations,  but  not  so  strongly  marked,  as  not  to  be  mis- 
taken with  comparative  impunity.  Hence  the  ordinary 
pursuits  and  employments  of  life  are  conducted  with  gen- 
eral success,  notwithstanding  these  smaller  mistakes  in 
regard  to  endowment. 

Not  so  in  those  rarer  instances,  where  she  has  seen  fit 
to  stamp  the  clear  and  strong  impress  of  peculiar  endow- 
ment and  aptitude,  in  which  the  embryo  poet,  painter, 
mathematician,  naturalist,  and  orator  are  indicated  by 
such  unequivocal  signs,  as  cannot  easily  be  overlooked, 
or  mistaken  by  any  competent  judge.  Hence,  in  the 
biography  of  most  of  those  who  have  truly  and  greatly 
distinguished  themselves,  we  are  informed  that  the  most 
ordinary  people  about  them  were  perfectly  aware  of  the 
harbingers  of  their  future  greatness.  I  am  confident, 
that  to  keen  and  faithful  observation  these  harbingers  are 


187 


as  palpable  in  the  germ,  as  in  the  development.  To 
mistake  in  such  a  case,  and  not  only  to  withdraw  the 
youthful  aspirant  from  the  career  to  which  nature  beck- 
ons him,  but  to  force  him  into  one,  in  which  every  ef- 
fort must  be  rowing  against  the  stream,  is  to  consign  him 
to  an  Egyptian  bondage,  a  slavery  of  the  soul,  by 
which  many  a  spirit  of  firmer  mould  has  been  broken 
down,  and  lost  to  society,  and  others  worse  than  lost, 
rendered  the  scourge  and  curse  of  all  with  whom  their 
lot  was  cast. 

Such  as  have  arrived  at  a  maturity  of  reason  and 
years,  to  have  the  responsibility  of  the  choice  of  a  pro- 
fession cast  upon  themselves,  will  infer,  what  are  my 
views  in  regard  to  the  first  element,  by  which  they 
ought  to  be  directed.  It  involves  a  previous  question, 
for  what  pursuit  or  calling  their  temperament,  faculties 
and  powers  best  fit  them  ?  By  long  and  close  observa- 
tion, pursued  with  a  fidelity  proportioned  to  its  impor- 
tance, by  intent  study  of  themselves,  as  called  out  by 
the  changes  of  their  health  and  prospects,  the  fluctua- 
tions of  their  spirits,  their  collisions  with  society,  in  all 
the  contingencies  that  befall  them,  they  can  scarcely  fail 
to  form  some  conception-  of  the  peculiar  cast  of  their 
powers,  and  the  walk  in  life,  for  which  their  capabilities 
are  best  adapted.  If  they  select  wisely  in  this  respect, 
habit  and  time  will  certainly  render  it  the  profession  of 
their  inclinations. 

As  soon  as  the  mind  begins  to  survey  the  professions, 
in  i  egard  to  the  honors,  emolument  and  success,  which 
they  respectively  offer,  there  is  great  danger,  lest  imagina- 
tion, taking  the  place  of  reason,  should  look  at  the  scene 
through  a  prism,  and  see  all  the  chances  of  an  illusive  bril- 


188 

iiancy  of  promise,  which  sober  experience  will  be  sure  to 
disappoint.  There  are  the  immense  promises  of  the 
law,  alluring  a  crowd  of  aspirants  and  competitors,  the 
greater  portion  of  whom  must  fail  to  realize  their  expec- 
tations. There  are  the  honors  of  the  physician,  binding 
him,  by  the  strongest  of  all  ties,  to  the  confidence  and  af- 
fection of  the  families  that  employ  him.  He  exercises 
the  only  profession  that  does  not  depend  upon  the  ca- 
price of  fashion,  or  the  vibrations  of  transient  feeling. — 
There  is  the  ministry,  with  its  time-honored  claims,  its  pe- 
culiar title  to  be  admitted  to  the  privacy  of  affection,  sick- 
ness and  death,  and  its  paramount  capability  of  the  high- 
est forms  of  that  only  eloquence  that  swells  and  softens 
the  heart,  by  coming  home  to  men's  business  and  bosoms. 
There  is  the  varied  range,  and  the  rapidly  acquired  for- 
tunes of  merchandize  and  commerce ;  the  growing  inter- 
est and  importance  of  the  new  portico  to  a  new  order  of 
nobility,  manufactures.  There  is  agriculture,  always 
seen  to  be  the  most  satisfactory  and  useful  of  employ- 
ments, and  now  rapidly  coming  to  be  viewed  in  the  light 
of  scientific  investigation  and  of  a  liberal  pursuit.  To  ad- 
just and  settle  the  respective  views,  which  the  judgment 
and  imagination  will  take  of  the  chances  of  these  various 
pursuits,  and  their  contiguity  to  love,  marriage,  wealth, 
and  distinction,  will  be  found  to  be  no  easy  task.  Some- 
times one  view  will  predominate  —  sometimes  another  j 
and  the  mind  appears  like  a  pendulum  vibrating  between 
them. 

Reason  presents  one  decisive  view  of  the  subject.  All 
these  chances — all  these  balances  of  advantage  and  dis- 
advantage have  long  since  settled  to  their  actual  and 
natural  level.  If  the  law  presents  more  tempting  baits, 


189 


and  more  rich  and  glittering  prizes,  over-crowded  com- 
petition, heart-wearing  scramble,  difficulty  of  rising 
above  the  common  level,  into  the  sun  and  air  of  distinc- 
tion, are  appended,  as  inevitable  weights,  in  the  opposing 
scale.  The  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  all  the  pro- 
fessions are  adjusted  by  the  level  of  society,  exactly  in 
the  same  way.  He  who  is  guided  in  this  inquiry  by 
common  sense,  will  comprehend  at  a  glance,  that  it  is  im- 
possible, in  the  nature  of  things,  to  combine  all  the  advan- 
tages and  evade  all  the  disadvantages  of  any  one  pursuit. 
No  expectation  more  irrational  and  disappointing  can  be 
indulged,  than  to  unite  incompatible  circumstances  of 
happiness.  The  inquirer  must  reflect,  that  such  a  pur- 
suit connects  a  series  of  fortunate  chances ;  but  there 
are  the  counterbalancing  evils.  Such  another  has  a  dif- 
ferent series  of  both.  It  is  folly  to  expect  to  form  an 
amalgam  of  these  immiscible  elements.  Reason  can  ex- 
pect no  more  than  that  we  unite  in  the  calling,  finally  fixed 
upon,  as  many  fortunate  circumstances  as  possible,  and 
avoid,  as  far  as  may  be,  its  inconveniences  and  evils. 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


Note  1,  page  39. 

THE  history  of  circumstances  under  which  I  commenced 
reading  the  book  of  M.  Droz,  sur  V  art  d'  iire  heureuse,  the 
substance  of  the  first  chapter  of  which  is  given  as  above,  will 
not  be  irrelevant,  I  would  hope,  to  you,  if  to  others.  It  was 
a  beautiful  April  morning,  and  I  had  wandered  away  from  the 
town,  with  the  book  in  my  hand,  among  the  hills.  I  inhaled 
a  bland  atmosphere  that  just  mffled  half  formed  leaves,  and 
shook  from  trees,  shrubs  and  flowers  the  pearly  drops  and  the 
delicious  aroma  of  the  season.  A  dun,  purple,  smoky  vapor 
veiled  the  brilliancy  of  the  sun  and  gave  the  face  of  nature 
its  most  exquisite  coloring.  A  repose,  like  sleep,  seemed  to 
rest  upon  the  earth,  only  interrupted  by  the  ruminating  of 
the  flocks  and  herds  on  the  hill  sides.  The  bees  sped  away 
to  their  nectar  cells  from  tree  and  flower,  leaving  upon  the 
dark  and  fleeting  line  of  their  passage  through  the  air  a 
lulling  hum  like  the  tones  of  an  Eolian  harp.  A  large  town, 
with  its  ceaseless  and  heavy  roll  of  mingled  sounds,  lay  out- 
stretched beneath  my  feet.  Painted  boats  were  slowly  wend- 
ing their  way  along  a  canal  from  the  town,  and  winding  their 
course  round  the  foot  of  the  hills.  Before  me  was  a  vast 
panorama  of  activity,  business,  commerce  and  all  the  accom- 
paniments of  a  busy  town.  A  few  paces  behind  me,  and  I 
was  plunged  in  a  forest  where  town  and  commerce  and  life 
were  hidden  as  if  by  the  shifting  of  a  scene,  and  the  jay 
screamed,  and  the  woods  showed  as  to  the  red  man  who  had 
17 


194 


seen  them  centuries  before.  A  beautiful  spring  branch  mur- 
mured by  me  in  its  deep  and  flood-worn  channel  down  the 
glen.  A  little  advance  spread  the  town  before  me.  A  little 
retreat  gave  me  back  to  the  wildness  of  nature  in  the  forest. 
Here  I  had  often  enjoyed  much  of  the  little  that  life  allows 
us  to  enjoy,  in  quiet  communion  with  nature  and  my  own 
thoughts.  I  had  never  experienced  it  in  higher  measures 
than  at  this  moment.  Could  I,  by  a  volition,  have  arrested 
the  flight  of  time  and  the  succession  of  sensations,  here 
would  I  have  fixed  the  punctum  stans  of  existence,  and  been 
content  to  have  this  scene  always  around  me,  and  the  enjoy- 
ment of  this  union  of  meditation  and  repose,  perpetual. 

But  a  change  came  over  my  thoughts,  as  I  read  the  quaint 
axiom,  laid  down  with  such  mathematical  precision,  man  is 
formed  to  be  happy.  What  I  saw  and  what  I  felt,  my  own 
consciousness  assented  to  the  proposition.  But,  startled  by 
a  transient  feeling  of  pain,  a  new  train  of  ideas  succeeded.  I 
have  only  to  pass,  said  I,  the  short  interval  between  this  repose, 
verdure,  quietness  and  internal  satisfaction,  to  reach  the  scene 
of  dust  and  smoke  before  me.  •  Besides  spires  and  mansions, 
I  shall  see  hovels,  poor,  blind,  lame,  squalid,  blaspheming 
youth,  imbecile  age,  prostitutes,  beggars,  haunts  of  felons 
and  outlaws  ;  and  even  in  the  abodes  of  what  shows  external 
comfort  and  opulence,  the  sick  and  dying  hanging  in  agonies 
of  suspense  upon  the  countenance  of  their  physician  and 
friends,  as  they  catch  gleams  of  hope  or  shades  of  despair 
from  their  aspect.  Many  of  these  sick,  even  if  they  recover, 
will  only  be  restored  to  trembling  age,  to  perpetual  and  incu- 
rable infirmity,  and  to  evils  worse  than  death.  Yet,  unhappy 
in  living,  and  afraid  to  die,  they  cling  to  this  wretched  exist- 
ence as  though  it  were  the  highest  boon.  These  varied 
shades  of  misery  that  the  picture  before  me  will  present  to 
the  slightest  inspection,  in  ten  thousand  forms  and  combina- 
tions, are  visible  in  every  part  of  our  world.  I,  too,  shall  soon 
add  to  the  deepness  of  the  shading.  My  friends  will  depart 
in  succession  ;  and  in  my  turn,  on  the  bed  of  death,  I  shall 
look  in  the  faces  of  those  most  dear  to  me,  as  I  am  compelled 
to  depart  out  of  life.  What  an  affecting  contrast  with  what 
I  see  and  what  I  am  ! 


195 


Why  there  is  this  partial  evil  in  the  world  is  not  a  question 
which  I  shall  here  attempt  to  vex  ;  for  I  could  add  nothing  to 
what  has  already  been  said  upon  the  subject.  It  is  enough 
that  the  evil  does  actually  exist.  Is  it  remediless  ?  Can  life  be 
so  spent  as  to  leave  a  balance  of  enjoyment  set  over  against 
the  evil  ?  These  are  my  questions.  There  will  always  be  in- 
equality, ignorance,  vice,  disease,  a  measureless  amount  of  mis- 
ery and  death.  What  portion  of  the  evils  of  life  can  be  cured  ? 
What  portion  must  be  manfully,  piously  endured  ?  What  tran- 
sient gleams  of  joy  can  be  made  to  illumine  the  depth  of  shade  ? 

I  yield  entire  faith  to  the  doctrine  before  you,  that,  estimate 
these  evils  as  highly  as  you  may,  a  balance  of  enjoyment  may 
still  be  struck  in  favor  of  life.  I  do  not  doubt,  that  more  than 
one  half  the  suffering  and  sorrow  which  every  individual  en- 
dures is  simply  of  his  own  procuring,  and  not  only  that  it  might 
have  been  wholly  avoided,  but  that  positive  enjoyment  might 
have  been  substituted  in  its  place.  An  inconceivable  mass 
of  misery  would  at  once  be  struck  from  the  sum  if,  as  I  have 
already  remarked,  we  knew  the  physical,  organic  and  moral 
laws  of  our  being,  and  conformed  ourselves  to  them.  A  uni- 
form, consistent  and  thorough  education  would  cure  us  of  innu- 
merable errors  of  opinion,  injurious  habits,  and  a  servile  con- 
formity to  established  and  prescribed  prejudices,  and  would  im- 
part to  us  wisdom,  force  of  character  and  resignation,  to  enable 
us  to  sustain,  as  we  ought,  those  that  are  unavoidable.  Imper- 
fection, pain,  decay  and  death,  in  the  inevitable  measures  be- 
longing to  organized  beings,  would  remain.  The  dignity  of 
true  philosophy,  the  stern  consciousness  of  the  necessity  of 
courage,  profound  and  filial  submission  to  the  divine  will, 
and  the  well  defined  and  investigated  hopes  of  religion  would 
accomplish  the  remainder. 

Consider  one  single  evil  —  fear,  unnecessary  fear,  an  entirely 
gratuitous  infusion  of  bitterness  in  the  cup  of  life.  I  ask  the 
man  who  has  seen  fourscore  winters  to  tell  me,  were  all  that 
he  has  suffered  in  his  pilgrimage  cast  into  one  account, 
what  would  be  the  greatest  item  in  the  sum  ?  I  believe  that 
almost  every  one  might  answer,  that  more  than  half  might  be 
charged  to  one  single  source  of  suffering  —  fear  —  fear  of 


196 


opinion,  reproach,  shame,  poverty,  pain,  danger,  disease  and 
death.  I  pause  not  to  consider  the  usual  dull  illustrations  of 
the  wisdom  and  utility  of  assigning  to  us  the  instinct  of  fear, 
to  put  us  on  our  guard  and  to  enable  us  to  ward  off  evils.  It 
is  not  this  instinctive  shrinking  and  vigilance  to  avoid  evil 
that  I  consider.  Let  education  have  its  most  perfect  work  in 
raising  us  superior  to  this  servile  and  tormenting  passion, 
and  too  much  of  it  would  still  remain.  Of  all  that  we  have 
suffered  from  fear,  what  portion  has  been  of  any  service  in 
shielding  us  from  that  which  we  apprehended  ?  Not  only 
have  we  avoided  no  evil  in  consequence,  but  the  enervating 
indulgence  of  this  passion  has  taken  from  us  our  quickness  of 
foresight,  our  coolness  of  deliberation,  our  firmness  of  action 
and  resolve,  by  the  exercise  of  which,  we  might  have  escaped 
all  that  we  dreaded.  We  may  calculate  then,  that  every 
pang  we  have  felt  from  this  source  has  been  just  so  much 
gratuitous  agony. 

Not  only  natural  instincts,  but  acquired  habits  are  trans- 
mitted ;  and  this  evil  of  fearfulness,  this  foreboding  of  ap- 
prehension, shaping  the  fashion  of  uncertain  ills,  has  been 
the  growing  inheritance  of  countless  generations  ;  and  a 
shrinking  and  effeminate  timidity  has  been  woven  into  our 
mental  constitution  by  nature.  Education,  instead  of  resist- 
ing, or  counteracting,  or  diminishing  the  transmitted  mischief,- 
has  labored  with  terrible  effect,  to  make  it  a  principle  and  a 
motive  to  action,  and  the  most  efficient  engine  of  the  inculca- 
ted systems  of  morality  and  religion.  Fear  of  death,  and  a 
slavish  terror,  springing  from  misapprehensions  of  the  charac- 
ter of  the  divine  being,  and  unmanly  and  debilitating  horrors  in 
regard  to  the  unknown  future  in  another  life,  these  have  been 
the  chief  sources  of  this  evil.  Terribly  have  the  father  and 
the  mother,  the  minister  and  the  schoolmaster,  and  general  pre- 
scription and  example  concurred,  to  strengthen  this  barbarous 
instrument  of  governing,  which  never  inspired  a  good  action, 
and  which  it  would  be  cruel  to  apply  to  a  slave.  Horrible 
have  been  the  bondage,  the  mean  abjectness  of  spirit,  the 
long  agony  of  the  soul,  which  this  inculcation  has  inspired.  — 
We  have  been  sedulously  trained  in  a  course  of  discipline 


197 

which  has  made  us  afraid  of  our  own  shadows  in  the  dark,  and 
inspired  us  with  shrinking  and  terror  in  view  of  a  silent  and 
peaceful  corse,  which,  in  the  eye  of  soher  reason,  should 
originate  associations  no  more  fearful,  than  a  waxen  figure. 
We,  who  are  the  victims  of  this  inhorn  and  instinctive  inheri- 
tance, we,  who  have  had  it  inwoven  by  precept,  education  and 
example,  and  the  prevalent  impression,  that  it  is  one  of  the 
purest  and  most  religious  motives  of  action,  are  best  able 
from  our  own  consciousness,  and  the  memory  of  what  we 
have  suffered  from  it,  to  present  just  views  of  it  to  others. — 
It  may  be  in  us  an  ingrafted  principle,  too  deep  to  be  uproot- 
ed by  any  rules,  or  reasons,  or  system  of  discipline  ;  a  habit 
too  unyieldingly  become  a  part  of  our  nature,  to  be  overcome. 
But  with  minds  more  docile,  with  temperaments  more  pliant, 
with  habits  less  fixed,  it  may  be  otherwise.  The  next  gener- 
ation may  transmit  a  more  manly  and  less  timid  nature  to  the 
generations  to  come.  Education,  building  on  the  basis  of 
minds  of  more  force,  may  then  accomplish  its  perfect  work, 
imbuing  them  with  a  filial  confidence  in  the  Almighty,  a 
sense  of  the  beauty  of  well-doing,  and  a  perfect  fearlessness 
in  regard  to  everything,  but  doing  wrong.  The  happier  gen- 
eration of  that  era,  will  be  spared  the  agony  of  all  deaths,  but 
the  single  one  of  nature  ;  and  will  be  fortified  by  discipline, 
and  the  force  of  general  opinion  and  example,  to  regard 
this  inevitable  law  of  our  being,  this  merciful  provision  of 
providence,  this  rest  for  the  worn  and  weary,  as  the  hireling  re- 
gards the  evening  shade,  when  he  reposes  from  his  labors 
and  receives  his  reward.  I  shall  elsewhere  advert  to  this 
evil  in  more  detail,  and  point  out  such  remedies,  as  appear 
to  me  to  be  suggested  by  reason,  education  and  religion. 

Note  2,  page  41. 

This  classification  of  the  great  divisions  of  our  species,  as 
they  are  occupied  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  seems  to  me  to 
unite  truth  with  poetry  and  philosophy,  and  to  be  both  happy 
and  just.  The  disappointed,  who  affirm  that  the  earth  offers  no 
happiness,  the  gloomy,  who  view  life  as  a  place  of  penance, 
17* 


198 


austerity  and  tears,  the  dissipated  and  voluptuous,  who  seek 
only  pleasure,  and  whose  doctrine  is,  that  life  offers  no  happi- 
ness but  in  unbridled  indulgence,  the  ambitious,  who  consid- 
er happiness  to  consist  only  in  wealth,  power  and  distinction, 
and  a  very  numerous  class,  who  have  no  object  in  view,  but 
to  vegetate  through  life  by  chance,  constitute  the  great  mass 
of  mankind.  The  number  of  those  who  have  lived  by  system, 
and  disciplined  themselves  to  the  wise  and  calculating  pur- 
suit of  happiness,  has  always  been  small.  But  there  have  still 
been  some,  enough  to  prove  the  practicability  of  the  art.  — 
Wherever  we  find  a  person,  who  declares  that  he  has  lived 
happily,  if  his  enjoyments  have  been  of  a  higher  kind,  than 
the  mere  vegetative  easiness  of  a  felicitous  temperament  and 
an  unthinking  joyousness,  we  shall  find  on  inquiry,  that  he 
has  been  a  philosopher  in  the  highest  and  best  sense.  He  may 
scarcely  understand  the  import  of  the  term ;  but,  however 
ignorant  of  systems,  and  the  learning  of  the  schools,  if  he 
have  made  it  his  chief  business,  to  learn  by  the  study  of  him- 
self, and  general  observation,  how  to  be  happy,  he  is  the  true 
sage.  He  may  well  be  content,  let  others  regard  him  as  they 
may  ;  for  he  has  put  in  requisition  the  best  wisdom  of  life. 
No  one  maxim,  especially,  ever  included  more  important  and 
practical  truth,  than  that,  to  be  happy,  we  must  assiduously 
train  ourselves  to  retain  through,  life  a  keen  and  juvenile 
freshness  of  sensibility  to  enjoyment,  and  must  early  learn  tc 
anticipate  the  effect  of  experience  and  years  in  cultivating  t 
stern  indifference,  a  strong  spirit  of  endurance,  and  unshrink- 
ing obtuseness  to  pain.  It  has  been  my  fortune  to  see  ex- 
amples of  persons  who  enjoyed  life  even  to  old  age  with  al 
the  ardor  and  the  quick  perception  of  the  young,  and  whc 
had  always  been  as  remarkable  for  their  impassive  and  heroii 
endurance  of  pain. 

Note  3,  page  43. 

We  are  told,  in  ridicule  of  this  study,  that  men  have  been 
very  happy  without  rules,  and  before  any  system  had  been 
laid  down,  and  will  continue  to  be  happy,  unconscious  of  the 


199 

means  by  which  they  arrived  at  their  enjoyment.  So  have 
men  reasoned  without  acquaintance  with  the  rules  of  logic  ; 
but  this  proves  not  the  inutility  of  the  study.  Let  the  objec- 
tor convince  us  that  the  happy  without  thought  and  rules 
would  not  have  been  happier  if  they  had  sought  enjoyment 
with  the  keen  and  practical  intelligence  of  a  Franklin. 

Whatever  men  do  well  without  definite  aim  and  without 
rules,  it  is  clear  to  me,  they  would  do  better  with  these  ad- 
vantages. The  same  argument  equally  militates  with  all 
means  of  moral  instruction.  '  The  world,'  the  objector  may 
say,  '  will  proceed  as  before,  say  what  we  may.'  But  this 
would  be  deemed  no  just  ground  of  objection  to  an  attempt  to 
improve  the  age,  though  the  efforts  may  have  little  visible 
and  apparent  effect. 

Note  4,  page  44. 

No  term  has  been  more  hackneyed,  in  these  days,  than 
education.  We  have  had  system  upon  system,  and  treatise 
upon  treatise  ;  and  more  has  been  written  and  declaimed 
upon  this  subject  than  almost  any  other.  And  yet,  scarcely  a 
word  has  been  said  upon  a  grand  and  radical  defect  in  all 
existing  systems  which  reduces  to  a  very  humble  scale  the 
results  of  the  best  concerted  efforts.  I  lay  out  of  the  question 
all  other  incongruities,  that  I  might  easily  mention,  and  come 
directly  to  that  which  I  have  chiefly  in  my  mind.  Each  of 
the  different  instructers,  through  whose  forming  hands  the 
pupil  passes,  communicates  to  him  different,  militant  and 
incompatible  impulses ;  so  that,  instead  of  a  continuous  opera- 
tion and  an  onward  movement,  it  seems  to  be  the  work  of  each 
successive  teacher  to  undo  that  of  all  the  others.  The  father 
and  mother,  besides  various  minor  inculcations,  labor,  as  their 
highest  object,  to  infuse  into  the  mind  of  their  child,  ambition, 
the  desire  of  preeminence  and  distinction.  The  schoolmaster 
instils  the  same  principles  under  such  different  circumstances 
as  to  render  the  envy,  rivalry  and  competition  of  the  school- 
room almost  another  series  of  impulses.  The  minister  and 
the  catechism  enjoin  humility,  meekness  and  a  disposition  to 


200 


prefer  others  in  honor  before  themselves.  '  Be  honest  and 
high-minded,'  say  the  parents  and  teachers.  '  Be  adroit,  and 
circumvent  those  who  are  watching  to  take  advantage  of  your 
weakness  and  inexperience,'  says  the  master  at  the  counting- 
desk.  The  elder  friends  teach  one  class  of  maxims,  and  the 
younger  another.  The  actual  world  inculcates  rules  different 
from  all  the  rest.  Thus  the  parents,  the  school-master,  the 
minister,  the  politician,  society  and  the  world  are  continually 
varying  the  direction  of  the  youthful  traveller.  No  wonder 
that  most  people  either  have  no  character,  or  one  that  is  a 
compound  of  the  most  incongruous  elements.  A  pupil,  to 
have  a  strong,  wise,  marked  and  efficient  character,  should 
have  had  it  steadily  trained  to  one  end  ;  and  every  impulse 
ought  to  have  been  in  a  right  line  and  concurrent  with  every 
other.  Such  must  be  the  case  before  honest  and  uniform 
characters  will  be  formed. 

There  is  little  force  in  the  objection,  that  he  who  has  not 
been  constantly  happy  himself  ought  not  to  presume  to  teach 
others  to  be  happy.  On  the  contrary,  as  the  author  beauti- 
fully suggests,  none  can  discuss,  with  so  much  experience  and 
force  of  truth,  the  dangers  of  shipwreck,  as  they  who  have 
themselves  suffered  it.  If  the  art  of  happiness  can  be  taught, 
the  teacher  must  necessarily  have  paid  the  price  of  a  qualifica- 
tion to  impart  it,  in  having  been  himself  unhappy.  Conscious 
that  he  had  the  susceptibility  of  enjoyment,  and  wanted  only 
the  right  direction  of  the  means,  he  will  be  able  to  set  up 
way-marks,  as  a  warning  to  others,  at  the  points  where  he 
remembers  that  he  went  astray  himself. 

Note  5,  page  44. 

THE  necessity  of  moderating  our  desires  and  reducing 
them  within  the  limits  of  what  we  may  reasonably  hope  to 
acquire,  has  been  the  beaten  theme  of  prose  and  song  for  so 
many  ages  that  the  triteness  of  repetition  has  finally  caused 
the  great  truth  to  be  almost  disregarded  by  moralists.  Yet, 
who  can  calculate  the  sum  of  torment  that  has  been  inflicted 
by  wild  and  unreasonable  desires,  by  visionary  and  puerile 


201 


expectations,  beyond  all  probable  bounds  of  means  to  realize 
them,  indulged  and  fostered  until  they  have  acquired  the 
force  of  habit !  Whose  memory  cannot  recur  to  sufferings 
from  envy  and  ill  will,  generated  by  cupidity,  for  the  pos- 
sessions and  advantages  of  others  that  we  have  not !  Who 
can  count  the  pangs  which  he  has  endured  from  extravagant 
and  unattainable  wishes  !  Poetry  calls  our  mortal  sojourn  a 
vale  of  tears ;  yet  what  ingenuity  to  multiply  the  gratuitous 
means  of  self-torment!  Has  another  health,  wealth,  beauty, 
fortune,  endowment,  which  I  have  not  ?  Envy  will  neither 
take  them  from  him,  nor  transfer  them  to  me.  Why,  then, 
should  I  allow  vultures  to  prey  upon  my  spirit  ?  Learn 
neither  to  regret  what  you  want  and  cannot  supply,  nor  to 
hate  him  who  is  more  fortunate.  With  all  his  apparent  ad- 
vantages over  you,  he  wants,  perhaps,  what  you  may  possess, 
a  tranquil  mind.  There  is  little  doubt  that  you  are  the  happier 
person  if  you  contemplate  his  advantages  and  his  possessions 
with  a  cheerful  and  unrepining  spirit. 

I  present  two  considerations  only,  as  inducements  to  con- 
trol and  regulate  your  desires.  1.  In  indulging  them  beyond 
reason  you  are  fostering  internal  enemies  and  becoming  a 
self-tormentor.  In  the  quaint  language  of  the  ancient 
divines,  they  are  like  fire,  good  servants  but  terrible  masters. 
2d.  The  higher  gifts  of  fortune,  the  common  objects  of  envi- 
ous desire,  are  awarded  to  but  a  few.  The  number  of  those 
who  may  entertain  any  reasonable  hope  of  reaching  them  is 
very  small.  But  every  one  can  moderate  his  desires.  Every 
one  can  set  bounds  to  his  ambition.  Every  one  can  limit  his 
expectations.  What  influence  can  fortune,  events,  or  power 
exercise  over  a  person,  who  has  learned  to  be  content  with  a 
little,  and  who  has  acquired  courage  to  resign  even  that 
without  repining?  Franklin  might  well  smile  at  the  impo- 
tent malice  of  those  who  would  deprive  him  of  his  means  and 
his  business,  when  he  proved  to  them  that  he  could  live  on 
turnips  and  rain  water.  It  is  not  the  less  true  or  important, 
because  it  has  been  a  million  times  said,  that  happiness,  the 
creature  of  the  mind,  dwells  not  in  external  things. 


202 


Note  7,  page  47. 

Wherever  civilized  man  has  been  found,  the  first  effort  of 
his  mind,  beyond  the  attainment  of  his  animal  wants,  has  been 
to  travel  into  the  regions  of  imagination,  to  create  a  nobler 
and  more  beautiful  world  than  the  dull  and  common-place 
existing  one,  to  assign  to  man  a  higher  character  and  purer 
motives  than  belong  to  the  actual  race.  To  possess  a  frame 
inaccessible  to  pain  and  decay,  and  to  dwell  in  eternal  spring, 
surrounded  by  beauty  and  truth,  is  an  instinctive  desire.  A 
mind  of  any  fertility  can  create  and  arrange  such  a  scene  ; 
and  in  this  dreaming  occupation  the  sensations  are  tranquil- 
lizing and  pleasant  beyond  the  more  exciting  enjoyment  of 
actual  fruition.  With  the  author,  I  deem  the  propensity  for 
this  sort  of  meditation  neither  unworthy  in  itself,  nor  tending 
to  consequences  to  be  deprecated.  So  far  as  my  own  expe- 
rience goes,  and  I  am  not  without  my  share,  it  neither  ener- 
vates nor  satiates.  It  furnishes  enjoyment  that  is  calm  and 
soothing  ;  and  such  enjoyment,  instead  of  enfeebling,  invigor- 
ates the  mind  to  sustain  trials  and  sorrows.  Why  should  we 
not  enter  into  every  enjoyment  that  is  followed  by  no  pain- 
ful consequences  ?  Why  should  we  not  be  happy  when  we 
may  ?  Is  he  not  innocently  employed  who  is  imagining  a 
fairer  scene  —  a  better  world  —  more  benevolence,  and  more 
joy  than  this  '  visible  diurnal  sphere'  affords  ?  Addison  is 
never  presented  to  me  in  a  light  so  amiable  as  when  he  relates 
his  day-dreams,  his  universal  empire,  in  which  he  puts  down 
all  folly  and  all  wickedness,  and  makes  all  his  personages 
good  and  happy.  Every  writer  who  has  produced  a  romance 
worth  reading,  has  been  endowed  in  this  way,  as  a  matter 
of  course ;  and  I  confidently  believe  that  the  greatest  and 
best  of  men  have  been  most  strongly  inclined  to  this  sort  of 
mental  creation.  May  not  their  noblest  achievements  have 
been  the  patterns  of  those  archetypes?  I  have  no  doubt  that 
imaginings  infinitely  more  interesting  than  any  recorded  in  ro- 
mances, Arabian  tales,  or  any  other  work  of  fiction,  have  impart- 
ed their  transient  exhilaration  to  meditative  minds,  and  have 
passed  away  with  the  things  that  never  grew  into  the  material 


203 


and  concrete  grossness  of  sensible  existence.  If  ink  and  pa- 
per and  printing  could  have  been  created  as  cheaply  and  readi- 
ly as  a  new  earth  and  better  men  and  women,  and  scenes  more 
like  what  we  hope  for  at  last,  the  world  would  have  had  be- 
queathed to  it  more  volumes,  than  would  have  weighed  down 
all  the  ponderous  dulness  of  by-gone  romance.  I  cannot  as- 
sure myself,  that  you  would  have  been  amused,  or  instructed  in 
reading  ;  but  you  would  then  have  been  able  to  form  some  idea 
of  the  hours  of  pain,  embarrassment,  lack  of  all  external  means 
of  pleasant  occupation,  journeying,  cold  and  watching,  that 
have  been  beguiled  by  this  employment.  I  only  add  that,  so 
far  as  my  experience  extends,  the  first  calm  days  of  spring, 
and  the  period  of  Indian  summer  in  autumn  are  most  propi- 
tious to  this  sort  of  revery. 

Note  8,  page  48. 

These  and  the  subsequent  views  of  ambition  in  this  essay 
of  M.  Droz,  have  been  the  theme  of  severe  and  sweeping 
strictures  upon  the  general  tendency  of  his.  book.  Ambitious 
and  aspiring  men  will  find  it  ridiculous,  of  course,  to  exact,  as 
a  pre-requisite  to  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  the  abandonment, 
or  the  moderation  of  ambitious  thoughts,  especially  in  such  a 
country  as  ours,  where  some  boon  is  held  out  to  tempt  these 
aspirings  in  almost  every  condition,  from  the  mansion  to  the 
cabin.  It  may  not  be  amiss  for  men,  who  are  themselves  as- 
pirants, and  to  whom  the  access  to  distinction  and  power 
is  easy,  and  the  attainment  probable,  to  declaim  against  the 
tendency  of  these  maxims.  I  know  well,  that  in  every  rank 
and  position,  the  inculcation  of  aspiring  thoughts,  emulation 
and  rivalry  is  the  first  and  last  lesson,  the  grand  and  beaten 
precept,  upon  which  the  million  are  acting.  I  am  well  aware 
how  many  hearts  are  wrung  by  all  the  fierce  and  tormenting 
passions,  associated  with  this  devouring  one.  I  affirm  nothing 
in  regard  to  my  own  interior  views,  respecting  what  the  world 
calls  fame,  glory  and  immortality.  Those  who  are  most  dear 
to  me,  will  not  understand  me  to  be  entering  my  caveat  to  dis- 
suade them  from  this  last  infirmity  of  noble  minds.  Could  I  do 


204 


it  with  more  eloquence  than  ever  yet  flowed  from  tongue  or 
pen,  there  will  always  be  a  hundred  envious  competitors  for 
every  single  niche  in  the  temple  of  fame.  It  can  be  occupied 
but  by  one  ;  and  he  who  gains  it  will  exult  in  his  elevation 
only  during  its  freshness  and  novelty.  The  rest,  to  the  tor- 
ment of  fostered  and  devouring  desires,  will  add  the  bitter- 
ness of  disappointment. 

Since  it  is  a  fact  out  of  question,  that  the  greater  portion  of 
the  species  can  never  secure  the  objects  of  their  ambition, 
is  it  ill  judged  in  one  who  treats  upon  the  science  of  happi- 
ness, to  write  for  the  million  instead  of  the  few  favorites  of 
fortune  ?  The  principles  of  a  philosophic  investigation  ought 
not  to  be  narrowed  down  to  meet  the  wishes  of  the  few.  The 
question  is,  whether,  taking  into  view  ambition  and  all  the  as- 
sociated feelings,  the  toil  of  pursuit,  and  the  difficulty  and  un- 
frequency  of  the  attainment  of  its  objects,  it  is,  on  the  whole, 
favorable  to  happiness  to  cherish  the  passion,  or  not  ?  I  am 
clear,  that  even  the  successful  aspirants,  if  their  rivalry  were 
more  generous  and  philanthropic,  and  their  indulgence  of  the 
cankering  and  corroding  of  ill-concealed  envy,  derision,  hate 
and  scorn,  were  regulated,  would  be  not  the  less  rapid  in 
reaching  the  goal,  or  happy  in  the  fruition  of  their  attainment. 
I  have  little  doubt,  if  an  exact  balance  of  enjoyment  and  suffer- 
ing could  be  struck,  at  the  last  hour  between  two  persons,  whose 
circumstances  in  other  respects  had  been  similar,  one  of  whom 
had  been  distinguished  in  place  and  power,  in  consequence  of 
cultivating  ambition ;  and  the  other  obscure  in  peaceful  priva- 
cy, in  consequence  of  having  chosen  that  condition,  that  the 
scale  of  happiness  would  decidedly  incline  in  favor  of  the  latter. 
In  a  word,  it  is  the  index  of  sound  calculation,  to  prepare  for 
the  fate  of  the  million,  rather  than  that  of  the  few.  Repress 
ambition,  as  much  as  we  may,  there  will  always  remain  enough 
to  render  the  world  an  aceldama,  and  the  human  heart  a  place 
of  concentrated  torment. 

It  is  clear,  therefore,  to  me,  that  in  making  up  the  debt  and 
credit  account  of  life,  in  relation  to  happiness,  most  of  the  sen  - 
timents  associated  with  ambition,  and  its  prolific  family  of 
self-tormenting  passions,  may  be  set  down  as  gratuitous  items 


205 

of  misery,  superinduced  by  our  own  voluntary  discipline.  I 
shall  be  asked,  what  is  to  stimulate  to  exertion,  to  study,  toil 
and  sacrifice,  to  great  and  noble  actions,  and  what  shall  lead 
to  fame  and  renown,  if  this  incentive  be  taken  away  ?  I  an- 
swer, that,  what  is  ordinarily  dignified  with  the  appellation 
of  ambition,  is  a  vile  mixture  of  the  worst  feelings  of  our  na- 
ture. There  is  in  all  minds,  truly  noble,  a  sufficient  impulse 
towards  great  actions,  apart  from  these  movements,  which 
are  generally  the  excitements  of  little  and  mean  spirits.  Take 
the  whole  nature  of  man  into  the  calculation,  and  there  can 
never  be  a  want  of  sufficient  impulse  towards  distinction,  with- 
out a  particle  of  those  contemptible  motives,  which  are  general- 
ly put  to  the  account  of  praiseworthy  incitement.  Truly  great 
men  have  been  remarkable  for  their  exemption  from  envy,  the 
inseparable  concomitant  of  conscious  deficiency  ;  and  for  a 
certain  calm  and  tranquil  spirit,  indicating  moderation  and 
comparative  indifference  in  the  struggle  of  emulation.  They 
are  able  to  say,  in  regard  to  the  highest  boon  of  ambition, 

'I  neither  spurn,  nor  for  the  favor  call, 
It  comes  unasked-for,  if  it  comes  at  all.' 

Why,  then,  in  a  world,  and  in  an  order  of  society,  where 
ambition,  with  its  associated  passions,  brings  in  an  enormous 
amount  to  the  mass  of  human  self-inflicted  torment,  should  he 
be  censured,  who  advises,  that  in  the  philosophic  and  calcu- 
lating pursuit  of  happiness,  this  element  of  misery  should  be, 
as  much  as  possible,  repressed  ?  The  question  may  be  more 
strongly  urged,  when  we  take  into  the  account,  the  consid- 
eration, that  the  far  greater  portion  of  the  species  must  calcu- 
late on  the  bitterness  of  disappointment,  in  addition  to  the 
miseries  which  are  inseparable  from  the  indulgence  of  this 
passion.  All  the  inordinate  thirst  for  power  and  fame  of  the 
countless  aspirants,  who  desire  to  be  Alexanders,  Csesars  and 
Napoleons,  not  only  is  so  much  subtracted  from  their  enjoy- 
ment, and  added  to  their  misery,  but  has  little  tendency  to 
aid  them  to  attainments,  which,  after  all,  are  as  frequently  the 
award  of  contingency,  as  of  calculation. 

Let  the  evils  of  retirement  arid  obscurity,  be  fairly  balanced 
18 


206 


with  those  of  gratified  ambition,  and  let  the  aspirant  feel,  that 
they  are  absolutely  incompatible,  the  one  with  the  other.  — 
Let  him  therf  make  his  election,  in  view  of  the  consequences, 
and  not  foolishly  expect  that  he  can  unite  incompatible  advan- 
tages. If  he  chooses  the  dust  and  scramble  of  the  arena,  and 
the  intoxicating  pleasures  at  the  goal,  let  him  not  repine,  that 
he  cannot  unite  with  them  those  of  repose,  retirement  and  a 
tranquil  mind.  If,  on  the  contrary,  he  prefers  to  hold  on  the 
noiseless  tenor  of  his  way,  in  peace  and  privacy,  let  not  the 
serpents  of  envy  sting  him,  when  he  sees  the  car  of  the  for- 
tunate aspirant  drawn  forward  by  the  applauding  million.  Let 
not  murmurs  arise  in  his  heart,  when  he  hears,  or  reads  of  the 
rewards,  honors  and  immortality  of  those  whom  he  may  be- 
lieve to  be  endowed  no  higher  than  himself  with  talents  or 
virtues.  Let  him  say,  '  no  one  can  show  me  the  mind,  or  paint 
me  the  consciousness  of  that  man.  Fortune  and  my  own 
choice  have  assigned  me  the  shade.  Let  me  not  embitter 
its  coolness  and  its  satisfactions,  by  idle  desires  to  unite  ad- 
vantages, that  are,  in  their  nature,  incongruous.  Let  me  re- 
member, that  mine  is  the  condition  of  the  million.  My  Crea- 
tor cannot  have  doomed  so  vast  a  proportion  of  his  creatures 
to  a  state,  which  is  necessarily  miserable.  All  that  remains 
to  me,  is  to  make  the  best  of  the  common  lot.' 

Note  9,  page  50. 

Severe  strictures  have,  also,  been  passed  upon  this  maxim. 
I  well  know,  that  the  common  rules  proposed  to  the  young,  in 
commencing  their  serious  and  more  advanced  studies,  lead 
them  to  look  forward  to  happiness,  as  a  garland  suspended 
from  the  goal,  an  object  only  in  remote  expectation,  the  frui- 
tion of  which  should  be  hoped  for  only  at  a  peiiod  of  life, 
when  few  are  capable  of  enjoyment,  even  if  the  means  were 
in  their  power.  To  calculate  on  comfort  and  repose,  early 
in  life,  has  been  considered  as  a  sort  of  effeminate  weakness. 

These  unphilosophic  views  of  education  have,  more  than  al- 
most any  other,  thrown  over  the  whole  course  of  preparatory 
discipline  for  life,  a  repulsive  gloom,  tending  to  fill  the  mind  of 


207 

the  pupil  with  dismay  and  disgust  in  view  of  his  studies.  — 
The  young  should  be  early  imbued  with  the  sentiment,  that 
God  sent  them  here  to  be  happy,  not  in  indolence,  intoxica- 
tion, voluptuousness  or  insanity  ;  but  in  earnest  and  vigorous 
discipline  for  coming  duties.  And  at  this  bright  epoch,  when 
nature  spreads  a  charm  over  existence,  a  philosophic  teacher 
may  easily  train  them  to  invest  their  studies,  labors,  and  pur- 
suits, and  perhaps  even  their  privations  and  severer  toils,  with 
a  coloring  of  cheerfulness  and  gayety,  when  contemplated 
as  the  only  means  of  discipline  by  which  they  may  hope  to 
reach  a  desired  end.  They  should  be  trained  to  meet  events, 
and  brave  the  shock  of  adversity  with  a  firm  and  searching 
purpose,  to  find  either  a  way  to  mitigate  the  pressure,  or  to 
increase  self-respect  by  the  noble  pride  of  manifesting  to  them- 
selves, with  how  much  calmness  and  patient  endurance  they 
can  overcome  the  inevitable  ills  of  their  condition.  In  other 
words,  they  should  make  enjoyment  a  means,  as  well  as  an  end, 
that  they  may  carry  onward,  from  their  firsc  days,  an  accumu- 
lating stock  of  happiness,  with  which  courage  and  cheerful- 
ness may  paint  future  anticipations  in  the  mellow  lustre  of 
past  remembrances.  In  this  way  the  bow  of  promise  maybe 
made  to  bend  its  brilliant  arch  over  every  period  of  this  tran- 
sient existence,  connecting  what  has  been,  and  what  will  be, 
in  the  same  radiant  span. 

Entertaining  such  views  of  the  direction  which  might  be 
given  to  the  juvenile  mind,  I  mourn  over  those  .veak  parents, 
who  are  nursing  their  children  with  effeminate  fondness,  not 
allowing  the  winds  to  visit  them  too  roughly,  pampering  their 
wishes,  instead  of  teaching  them  to  repress  them :  and  rather 
striving  to  ward  from  them  all  pains  and  privations,  than 
teaching  them  that  they  must  encounter  innumerable  sorrows 
and  disappointments,  and  disciplining  them  to  breast  the  ills 
of  life  with  a  conquering  fortitude.  Opulence  generally  gives 
birth  to  this  injudicious  plan  of  parental  education.  Penury, 
as  little  directed  by  sound  views,  but  impelled  by  the  stern 
teaching  of  necessity,  imparts  to  the  children  of  the  poor,  a 
much  more  salutary  discipline,  and  they  ordinarily  come  for- 
ward with  a  more  robust  spirit,  with  more  vigor,  power  and 


208 


elasticity  ;  and  it  is  in  this  way,  that  providence  adjusts  the 
balance  of  advantages  between  these  different  conditions. 

We  have  all  admired  the  practical  philosophy  of  the  man, 
who,  when  sick  of  a  painful  disease,  thanked  God  that 
he  was  not  subject  to  a  still  more  painful  one ;  and  when 
under  the  pressure  of  the  latter,  found  cause  for  cheer- 
fulness, that  he  was  not  visited  with  both  diseases  at  the 
same  time.  Akin  to  this  was  the  noble  fortitude  of  the  mari- 
ner, who,  when  a  limb  was  carried  away  by  a  cannon-ball, 
congratulated  himself  that  it  was  not  his  head.  I  do  not  say 
that  any  one  can  rind  cheerfulness  in  contemplating  such 
Spartan  spirits,  but  that  a  philosophy  of  this  sort  would  dis- 
arm the  common  ills  of  life  of  much  of  their  power,  and  would 
even  enable  the  sufferer  to  find  enjoyment  in  the  midst  of  them. 

It  would  be  no  disadvantage  even  to  the  ambitious  and  as- 
piring to  abstract,  from  the  toils  of  their  pursuit,  the  bitter  and 
corroding  spirit  of  rivalry  and  envy,  and  in  its  stead  to  cultivate 
sentiments  of  kindness,  complacency  and  moderation.  Let 
their  ends  be  so  noble,  as  to  give  an  air  of  dignity  to  the 
means  that  they  employ,  and  they  will  throw  a  splendor  of 
self-respect  over  their  course.  Let  the  aspirant  say,  '  I  strug- 
gle not  for  myself,  but  to  procure  competence  for  aged  pa- 
rents, to  gild  their  declining  years  with  the  view  of  rny  suc- 
cess. It  is  for  dependent  relatives,  orphans,  the  poor  and 
friendless,  whom  Providence  has  given  paticular  claims  on 
me,  that  I  struggle.  It  is  to  benefit  and  gladden  those  who  are 
dearer  to  me  than  life,  and  not  for  my  own  sordid  vanity  and 
ambition,  that  I  strive  to  toil  up  the  ascent  of  fame. 

In  fine,  the  author,  while  he  inculcates  the  maxim  that  we 
should,  from  the  beginning,  study  to  number  happy  days, 
would  not  teach,  as  he  has  been  charged  with  teaching,  that 
we  may  give  labor  and  study  and  the  toil  of  preparation  to 
the  winds,  and  consult  only  the  indolent  leading  of  our  pas- 
sions ;  for  he  knows,  as  do  we  all,  that  this  course  results  in 
anything  but '  happy  days.'  He  would  send  us,  on  the  con- 
trary, in  pursuit  of  happiness,  to  the  teaching  of  wisdom  and 
experience,  that  never  bestow  impracticable  lessons.  He 
would  only  inculcate,  that  while  others  have  taught  us  to  seek 


ultimate  happiness  through  means  of  pain,  we  should  make 
the  means  themselves  immediate  sources  of  enjoyment.  It 
is  a  fact  out  of  question,  that  we  may  train  ourselves  to  rind 
enjoyment  in  those  toils  and  privations,  which  are  to  others, 
sources  of  disgust  and  sorrow.  Who  has  not  thrilled,  as  he 
read  of  the  author,  who,  oppressed  with  cares,  infirmities  and 
years,  took  leave  of  a  book,  the  result  of  the  most  laborious  and 
protracted  study,  that  was  to  be  published  only  after  his  death, 
with  a  pleasant  ode  of  thankfulness  to  it,  as  having  furnished 
him  agreeable  occupation,  and  beguiled  years  of  sorrow  and 
pain  ?  On  this  subject,  I  too  can  speak  experimentally.  I 
have  often  experienced  an  inward  conscious  satisfaction  in 
realizing  the  pleasure  and  enjoyment,  which  I  found  in  the 
same  pursuits  and  labors,  which  were  the  most  painful  drudg- 
ery to  others,  equally  qualified  to  pursue  them  with  myself. 
The  bee  extracts  honey  from  the  same  flower  which  to  the 
spider  yields  only  poison. 

Nothing  but  experience  can  teach  us  to  what  extent 
force  of  character,  and  a  capacity  without  cowardly  shrink- 
ing-, to  face  danger,  pain  and  death,  may  be  acquired.  — 
Compare,  for  example,  a  militia-man  torn  from  the  repose 
of  his  retreat,  and  forced  into  immediate  battles,  with  the 
same  person  in  the  same  predicament,  when  he  shall  have  be- 
come a  trained  veteran.  Compare  the  only  child  of  weak, 
fond  and  opulent  parents,  as  he  is  seen  in  the  hour  of  appre- 
hended shipwreck,  or  of  fierce  conflict  with  the  enemy,  with 
the  sailor-boy,  born  in  the  same  vicinity,  but  compelled  by 
the  rough  discipline  of  poverty,  to  encounter  the  elements, 
and  the  aspect  of  danger  and  death  from  boyhood. 

I  shall  take  occasion  hereafter,  to  remark  on  the  stubborn 
and  invincible  apathy  of  the  red  men  of  our  forests,  in 
the  endurance  of  slow  fire,  and  all  the  forms  of  torture,  which 
the  ingenuity  of  Indian  revenge  can  devise.  I  no  longer 
trace  this  apparent  insensibility  to  pain  and  fear,  as  I  former- 
ly did,  to  a  more  callous  frame,  and  nerves  of  obtuser  feeling. 
I  see  in  it  the  astonishing  result  of  their  institutions,  and  the 
influence  of  public  opinion  upon  them.  In  the  same  connex- 
ion, I  shall  remark  upon  the  testimony  which  the  conduct  of 
18* 


210 


martyrs  bears  to  the  same  point.  Place  a  sufficient  motive 
before  the  sufferer,  and  the  proper  witnesses  around  him,  and 
he  may  be  disciplined  to  endure  anything  without  showing 
a  subdued  spirit.  The  most  timid  woman  will  not  shrink  from 
a  surgical  operation,  when  those  she  loves  and  respects,  sur- 
round her  and  applaud  her  courage.  Leave  her  alone  with 
the  surgeon,  and  the  very  sight  of  his  instrument  will  produce 
shrieks  and  faintings.  The  mad  personage  who  leaped  the 
Genesee  falls,  fell  a  victim,  to  the  influence  which  encourag- 
ed vanity  and  ambition  exert  upon  their  subject  to  spur  him  on 
to  any  degree  of  daring.  If  the  light  application  of  a  motive, 
so  little  worthy  as  the  mere  gratification  of  a  moment's  vanity, 
can  harden  the  spirit  for  such  attempts,  what  might  not  be  ef- 
fected by  a  discipline  ,wisely  guided  by  a  simple  purpose  to  im- 
part force,  energy  and  unshrinking  courage,  to  meet  and  van- 
quish the  inevitable  evils  of  life  ?  To  me  there  is  nothing  in- 
credible in  the  story  of  the  Spartan  boy,  who  had  stolen  the 
fox,  and  allowed  the  animal,  while  concealed  under  his  man- 
tle, to  tear  his  entrails,  rather  than,  by  uttering  a  groan,  to 
commit  his  character  for  hardihood  and  capability  of  adroit 
thieving.  Parents,  your  children  will  be  compelled  to  en- 
counter fatigue,  privation  and  pain,  under  any  circumstances 
in  which  they  can  be  placed.  You  can  easily  pamper  them 
to  an  effeminacy  that  will  shrink  from  any  effort,  and,  if  I  may 
so  quote,  '  to  die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain  ; '  to  be  feeble, 
timid,  repining,  and  yet  voluptuous.  You  can  as  easily  teach 
them  to  find  pleasure  in  labor,  and  in  the  sentiment  of  that 
force  of  mind,  with  which  they  can  firmly  meet  pain,  privation, 
danger  and  death.  Train  them  for  the  world  in  which-  they 
are  destined  to  live.  Teach  them  to  quit  themselves  like  men, 
and  be  strong. 

Note  10,  page  51. 

It  is  impossible  to  present  a  better  summary  of  the  essen- 
tials of  happiness.  As  the  author  remarks,  they  are  difficult 
to  unite.  Yet,  whoever  lacks  either,  must  be  peculiarly  un- 
fortunate, or  indulgent  to  himself,  if  he  cannot  trace  the  want 


211 


to  some  aberration  or  neglect  of  his  own.  Health,  perhaps,  ia 
the  least  within  our  power  ;  for,  by  the  fault  of  our  ancestors, 
we  may  have  inherited  a  constitution  and  temperament  essen- 
tially vitiated  and  unhealthy.  We  may  lose  health  by  casu- 
alty or  by  the  influence  of  causes  utterly  beyond  our  know- 
ledge or  our  control.  But  for  one  person  thus  afflicted  with 
want  of  health,  it  is  notorious  that  a  hundred  are  so  from 
causes  which  they  may  trace  to  their  own  mismanagement. 
Tranquillity  of  mind,  is  certainly  a  frame,  on  which  we  have  a 
controling  influence.  Whoever,  in  our  country,  has  not  com- 
petence, must  assuredly  seek  the  cause,  if  he  have  health,  in 
his  own  want  of  industry  or  management.  Most  of  the  com- 
plaints of  the  caprice,  infidelity  and  unworthiness  of  friends 
would  have  a  more  equitable  application  to  our  own  want  of 
temper,  truth  and  disinterestedness.  These  things,  indispensa- 
ble to  happiness,  are  far  more  subject  to  our.  command,  than 
our  self-flattery  will  allow  us  to  imagine.  The  greater  portion 
of  those  about  us  might  unite  all  these  advantages.  Yet,  if  all 
misery,  other  than  that  which  arises  from  want  of  being  able 
to  unite  all  these  numerous  and  difficult  requisites  to  happi- 
ness, were  abstracted  from  human  nature,  I  am  confident  that 
a  moiety  of  the  sorrows  of  earth  would  be  removed  ;  in  other 
words,  that  a  philosophic  pursuit  of  happiness,  would  at  once 
deliver  us  from  more  than  half  of  our  suffering  here  below. 

Note  11,  page  59. 

The  memory  of  almost  every  person  who  has  been  present 
at  a  funeral,  attended  by  a  protestant  minister  of  a  certain 
class,  will  furnish  him  with  recollections  of  these  preposterous 
harangues  of  attempted  consolation.  The  mourners  are  in- 
structed that  it  is  sinful  to  grieve  ;  that  grief  implies  want  of 
faith  in  the  great  truths  of  the  gospel ;  that  Christianity  for- 
bids it ;  and,  more  than  all,  that  it  argues  doubt  of  the  happi- 
ness of  the  deceased  ;  or  a  murmuring  want  of  submission  to 
the  Divine  will.  Such  doctrines,  in  the  minds  of  weak  and 
superstitious  mourners  who  feel  that  it  is  not  in  their  power 
to  repress  grief,  inspire  painful  distrust  and  self-reproach  ; 


212 


and,  in  men  more  disciplined  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  and 
more  acquainted  with  human  nature,  contempt  for  the  igno- 
rant folly  or  gross  hypocrisy  of  the  declaimer.  The  unchang- 
ing constitution  of  human  nature  revolts  at  such  maxims. 
Whoever  affects  to  be  insensible  to  the  loss  of  a  child,  rela- 
tive, or  friend,  is  either  a  stranger  to  his  own  perceptions, 
practises  deceit,  or  has  no  heart  to  be  grieved.  Christianity 
is  preeminently  the  religion  of  tenderness,  and  forbids  the 
indulgence  of  no  inherent  emotion  of  our  nature  within  its 
proper  limits.  It  is  most  absurd  of  all,  to  suppose  that  God  has 
forbidden,  or  interprets  as  murmurs,  the  sorrows  that  we  feel 
from  his  stroke.  There  are  few  persons  so  disinterested, 
even  if  they  were  assured  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the  person 
they  mourn  is  happy,  as  not  to  grieve  at  the  final  earthly 
severance  which  cuts  off  the  accustomed  communion  of  heart ; 
and  interdicts  the  mourner  from  the  sight  and  participation 
of  that  happiness.  The  cause  of  Christianity  has  suffered 
beyond  calculation,  from  the  exaggeration  of  its  requirements 
by  weak  enthusiasts,  or  designing  bigots.  Distorted  views 
and  impracticable  requisitions  have  disgusted  more  persons 
with  the  system  of  the  gospel  than  Hume's  argument  against 
miracles,  or  all  the  sophistry  of  unbelief.  The  gospel  takes 
into  view  the  whole  nature  of  man,  and  all  its  precepts  an- 
nounce, nolumus  leges  naturae,  rniitari — we  will  that  the  laws 
of  nature  should  not  be  changed. 

Note  12,  page  61. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  recur  to  the  history  of  great  revolu- 
tions to  furnish  the  most  impressive  examples  of  human  vi- 
cissitude and  instability.  The  Latin  poet  had  reason  for  his 
maxim,  who  said, 

'  Si  fortuna  juvat  caveto  tolli ; 
Si  fortuna  tonat  caveto  mergi.' 

Life  in  every  country  and  in  all  time  has  been  full  of  affect- 
ing instances  of  the  young,  beautiful,  endowed  and  opulent 
struck  down  in  the  brightest  presage  of  their  dawn.  That  is 


213 

the  true  philosophy  which  draws,  from  continual  exposure  to 
these  blows,  a  motive,  to  make  the  most,  in  the  way  of  inno- 
cent enjoyment,  of  the  period  that  is  in  our  power. 

Note  13,  page  62. 

This  beautiful  painting  furnishes  an  impressive  emblem  of 
the  capability  of  the  human  constitution,  corporeal  and  mental, 
to  assimilate  itself  to  any  change  ;  and  of  becoming  insensible, 
by  habit,  to  any  degree  of  uniform  endurance.     Those  fanat- 
ics in  the   early   ages  of  the  church,   preposterously  called 
saints,  and  others  like  them,  professing  all  forms  of  religion, 
that  may   still   be   found     in  the     oriental   countries,   who 
sit  for  years  on  a  pillar  under  the  open   sky,  or  curve  them- 
selves into  a  half  circle  and  remain  in  that  position  until  their 
forms  grow  to  it,  shortly  cease  to   feel  much  uneasiness  in  a 
posture  which  becomes  habitual.     To   restore  them  to  their 
original  forms,  after  nature   has   affixed  her  seal  of  consent 
to  the  distortion,   would,   probably,   cause   as   much  pain  as 
was  requisite  to    acquire   the   habit.     We   have  all  read  the 
affecting  tale  of  the  prisoner  released  from  the  Bastile  after 
a  confinement  of  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century.     He  found 
the  ordinary  pursuits   and   intercourse   of  life  insupportable, 
and  begged  to  be  restored  to  his  dungeon.    This  is  a  most 
important  aspect  of  the  nature  of  man  which  parents  and^  in- 
structors have  as  yet  scarcely  taken  into  view  in  their  efforts 
to  mould  the  youthful  character.     Children  can  as  easily  be 
formed  to  be  Spartans  as  Sybarites  ;  and,  in  the  former  case, 
they  not  only  acquire  the  noble  attributes  of  courage    and 
force  of  character,  but  contract  habits  of  patient  and  manly 
endurance,  furnishing  a  better  shield  against  the  ills  of  life 
than  any  in  the  command  of  opulence  or  foresight. 

Note  14,  page  65. 

'  Fate  leads  the  willing,  drags  the   unwilling  on,'  and  the 
single  question  is,  by  which  of  these  processes  would  we 
choose  to  meet  our  lot?     No  doctrine  of  the  true  philosophy 
18** 


214 

lies  so  obviously  on  the  surface  as  the  wisdom  of  resignation; 
the  disposition,  in  the  exercise  of  which,  more  than  in  any 
order,  a  wise  man  differs  from  the  million  of  murmuring  and 
repining  beings  about  him,  who  are  madly  struggling  with  the 
inexorable  powers  of  nature,  and  doubting  their  evils  by  this 
useless  and  painful  resistance.  When  we  can  no  longer 
either  evade  or  resist  fortune,  we  can,  at  least,  half  disarm 
her  by  a  calm  and  manly  resignation. 

Note  15,  page  69. 

The  instinctive  sentiment  of  the  love  of  country  and  home 
is  beautifully  described  in  these  paragraphs.  In  health  and 
good  fortune,  the  amusements  and  distractions  of  life,  may 
keep  this  sentiment  out  of  sight.  But '  dulces  moriens  remin- 
iscitur  Jlrgos '  is  the  feeling  with  which  most  strangers  die  in 
a  foreign  land.  In  every  heart,  rightly  constituted,  the  mo- 
ment the  absence  of  adventitious  pleasures  forces  the  mind 
back  upon  itself,  the  instinctive  feeling  resumes  its  original 
force.  It  seems  to  me  always  an  unfavorable  trait  in  the 
character  of  an  immigrant  from  abroad,  that  he  is  disposed 
to  speak  unfavorably  of  his  native  country,  or  does  not  seem 
to  prefer  it  to  all  others.  God  has  wrought  into  the  mind 
of  every  good  man  a  filial  feeling  towards  his  native  country. 

Note  15,  page  69. 

None  of  the  sentiments  and  maxims  of  M.  Droz.  have  been 
more  severely  censured  than  those  of  the  succeeding  para- 
graphs. I  am  as  little  disposed  to  inculcate  an  indolent  phi- 
losophy, as  any  other  person.  These  views  seem  peculiarly 
unfitted  for  the  genius  of  our  country,  where  everything  re- 
spires, as  it  ought,  energy,  industry,  a  fixed  purpose  and  a 
keen  pursuit.  That  such  are  the  requirements  of  our  institu- 
tions is  a  truth  too  strongly  forced  upon  us  by  the  order  of 
everything  in  our  country,  to  require  any  other  proof.  I 
would  be  the  last  person  to  feel  disposed  to  recommend  a 
philosophy,  which  would  tend  to  quench  that  busy  and  daring 


215 

spirit  which  is  the  most  striking  characteristic  of  our  nation. 
No  elevation  or  opulence  among  us  can  dispense  with  a  defi- 
nite pursuit.  So  forcibly  is  every  citizen  reminded  of  this, 
by  all  he  sees  about  him,  that  without  a  pursuit,  no  one  among 
us  can  sustain  his  own  self-respect.  He,  who  courts  seclu- 
sion and  retirement,  on  the  principles  of  the  author  is  obliged, 
even  in  his  retirement,  to  keep  himself  engaged.  He  must  de- 
vote himself  to  agriculture,  manufactures,  or  some  other  ab- 
sorbing pursuit. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  no  American  is  in  danger 
of  subscribing  to  his  disqualifying  views  of  the  law,  or  any 
other  profession.  A  freeman  ought  to  hold,  that  he  can  con- 
fer respectability  upon  whatever  pursuit  circumstances  may 
impel  him  to  follow.  Happily,  no  harm  would  result,  in  our 
country,  from  the  dislike  of  the  author  to  the  law.  By  what 
seems  to  me  an  unhappy  general  consent  among  us,  the  law 
is  absorbing  in  the  temptations  that  it  offers  to  our  young 
men.  It  is  the  prescribed  avenue  to  all  honor  andtpl ace.  All 
our  functionaries  must  have  passed  into  the  temple  of  power 
and  fame  through  this  portico.  Hence  it  is,  and  probably  long 
will  be  thronged  by  a  great  corps  of  supernumeraries.  I  would 
certainly  be  the  last,  not  to  think  respectfully  of  the  profession  • 
but  still  I  dislike  to  see  so  many  of  our  aspiring  young  men 
crowding  into  it,  to  meet  inevitable  disappointment. 

But  critics  will  moderate  their  strictures  upon  the  author, 
when  they  call  to  mind,  that  although  there  is  no  such  class, 
as  people  of  leisure  in  our  country,  it  constitutes  a  great  and 
powerful  one  in  France  ;  perhaps  greater  in  proportion,  than 
any  other  country.  The  chief  application  of  these  paragraphs 
must  be  to  men  of  that  condition,  of  whom  the  better  clasa 
make  literature  at  once  their  amusement  and  pursuit.  For 
such,  these  are,  probably,  the  wisest  and  best  precepts  that 
could  be  given.  The  whole  of  that  part  of  this  chapter,  which 
inculcates  an  inactive  retirement,  is  altogether  calculated  for 
another  meridian,  than  that  of  our  country.  I  have  entirely 
omitted  some  of  the  passages,  as  not  only  of  erroneous  gener- 
al tendency,  but  altogether  inapplicable  to  any  order  of  things 
among'  us.  But  admitting  this,  and  a  few  other  trifling  ex- 


216 

ceptions,  I  have  been  astonished  at  the  charges  which  have 
been  brought  against  the  moral  tendency  of  the  general  opin- 
ions of  M.  Droz. 

Note  16,  page  73. 

This  short  chapter  upon  health  seems  to  me  full  of  the  sound- 
est practical  wisdom.  Every  one  must  be  aware,  that  the  wise 
pursuit  of  happiness  must  be  preceded  by  the  preserving  of 
health.  The  wise  ancients  justly  made  the  menssana  in  corpore 
sano,  to  be  the  condition,  if  not  the  essence  of  human  happi- 
ness. Most  treatises  upon  health  have  oppressed  the  subject 
by  too  many,  and  too  intricate  rules.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
add  to  the  author's  precepts,  brief  as  they  are,  so  far  as  they 
relate  to  the  moral  and  intellectual  regimen  necessary  to 
health.  I  add  a  remark,  or  two,  touching  some  physical  ap- 
pliances, that  should  be  appended  to  the  moral  rules. 

So  far  as  my  reading  and  observation  extend,  there  are  but 
three  circumstances,  which  have  almost  invariably  accompa- 
nied health  and  longevity.  The  favored  persons  have  lived 
in  elevated  rather  than  in  low  and  marshy  positions  ;  have  been 
possessed  of  a  tranquil  and  cheerful  temperament,  and  ac- 
tive habits  ;  and  have  been  early  risers. 

It  is  related  that  the  late  King  George  the  Third,  who  made 
the  causes  of  longevity  a  subject  of  constant  investigation, 
procured  two  persons,  each  considerably  over  a  hundred  years 
of  age,  to  dance  in  his  presence.  He  then  requested  them  to 
relate  to  him  their  modes  of  living,  that  he  might  draw  from 
them,  if  possible,  some  clue  to  the  causes  of  their  vigorous 
old  age.  The  one  had  been  a  shepherd,  remarkably  temper- 
ate and  circumspect  in  his  diet  and  regimen  ;  the  other  a 
hedger,  equally  noted  for  the  irregularity,  exposure,  and 
intemperance  of  his  life.  The  monarch  could  draw  no  infer- 
ence, to  guide  his  inquiries,  from  such  different  modes  of  life, 
terminating  in  the  same  result.  On  further  inquiry,  he 
learned,  that  they  were  alike  distinguished  by  a  tranquil 
easiness  of  temper,  active  habits,  and  early  rising. 
After  all  the  learned  modern  expositions  of  the  causes  of 


217 

dyspepsia,  I  suspect  that  not  one  in  a  thousand  is  aware  how 
much  temperance  and  moderation  in  the  use  of  food  conduce 
to  health.  There  are  very  few  among  us  who  do  not  daily 
consume  twice  the  amount  of  food,  necessary  to  satisfy  the 
requisitions  of  nature.  The  redundant  portion  must  weigh 
as  a  morbid  and  unconcocted  mass  upon  the  wheels  of  life. 
Every  form  of  alcohol  is  unquestionably  a  poison,  slow  or  rap- 
id, in  proportion  to  the  excess  in  which  it  is  used.  Disguise 
it  is  as  we  may,  be  the  pretexts  of  indulgence  as  ingenious  and 
plausible,  as  inclination  and  appetite  can  frame,  it  retains  its 
intrinsic  tendencies  under  every  sophistication.  Wine,  in 
moderation,  is,  doubtless,  less  deleterious  than  any  of  its  dis- 
guises. In  declining  age,  and  in  innumerable  cases  of  de- 
bility, it  may  be  indicated  as  a  useful  remedy  ;  but  even  here, 
only  as  a  less  evil  to  countervail  a  greater.  Pure  water,  all 
other  circumstances  equal,  is  always  a  healthier  beverage  for 
common  use.  Next  to  temperance,  a  quiet  conscience,  a 
cheerful  mind,  and  active  habits,  I  place  early  rising,  as  a  means 
of  health  and  happiness.  I  have  hardly  words  for  the  esti- 
mate which  I  form  of  that  sluggard,  male  or  female,  that  has 
formed  the  habit  of  wasting  the  early  prime  of  day  in  bed.  — 
Laying  out  of  the  question  the  positive  loss  of  life,  the  magna, 
pars  dempta  solido  de  die,  and  that  too  of  the  most  inspiring 
and  beautiful  part  of  the  day,  when  all  the  voices  of  nature 
invoke  man  from  his  bed  ;  leaving  out  of  the  calculation,  that 
longevity  has  been  almost  invariably  attended  by  early  rising  ; 
to  me,  late  hours  in  bed  present  an  index  to  character,  and  an 
omen  of  the  ultimate  hopes  of  the  person  who  indulges  in  this 
habit.  There  is  no  mark,  so  clear,  of  a  tendency  to  self-in- 
dulgence. It  denotes  an  inert  and  feeble  mind,  infirm  of  pur- 
pose, and  incapable  of  that  elastic  vigor  of  will  which  enables 
the  possessor  always  to  accomplish  what  his  reason  ordains. 
The  subject  of  this  unfortunate  habit  cannot  but  have  felt 
self-reproach,  and  a  purpose  to  spring  from  his  repose  with 
the  freshness  of  the  dawn.  If  the  mere  indolent  luxury  of 
another  hour  of  languid  indulgence  is  allowed  to  carry  it  over 
this  better  purpose,  it  argues  a  general  weakness  of  charac- 
ter, which  promises  no  high  attainment  or  distinction.  — - 
19 


218 

These  are  never  awarded  by  fortune  to  any  trait,  but  vigor, 
promptness  and  decision.  Viewing  the  habit  of  late  rising, 
in  many  of  its  aspects,  it  would  seem  as  if  no  being,  that  has 
any  claim  to  rationality,  could  be  found  in  the  allowed  habit 
of  sacrificing  a  tenth,  and  that  the  most  pleasant  and  spirit- 
stirring  portion  of  life,  at  the  expense  of  health,  and  the  cur- 
tailing of  the  remainder,  for  any  pleasure  which  this  indul- 
gence could  confer. 

Note  17,  page  .76. 

From  personal  experience  and  no  inconsiderable  range  of 
observation,  I  am  convinced  that  the  author  has  by  no  means 
overrated  the  influence  of  imagination  upon  health  and  dis- 
ease. It  is  indeed  astonishing,  at  this  late  period,  when 
every  physiologist  and  physician  is  ready  to  proclaim  his  own 
recorded  observations  upon  the  medicinal  influence  of  the 
moral  powers,  the  passions,  and  especially  the  imagination, 
that  so  few  medical  men  have  thought  it  an  object  to  employ 
them  as  elements  of  actual  application.  Hitherto  these  un- 
known and  undefined  powers  of  life  and  death  have  been  in 
the  hands  of  empirics,  jugglers,  mountebanks  and  pretended 
dispensers  of  miraculous  healing.  It  is,  at  the  same  time, 
matter  of  regret,  that  scientific  physicians,  instead  of  ques- 
tioning their  undeniable  cures,  and  pouring  attempted  ridicule 
upon  them,  have  not  separated  the  true  from  the  false,  and 
sought  access  to  the  real  fountain  of  the  efficacy  of  their 
practice,  the  employment  of  confident  faith,  hope,  and  the  un- 
limited agency  of  the  all  pervading  power  of  the  imagination. 
Many  physicians  are  sufficiently  wise,  and  endowed  with 
character,  to  exercise  circumspection  in  giving  their  opinions 
and  pronouncing  upon  the  prognostics  of  their  patients. 
They  regulate  their  words,  countenance  and  deportment  with 
a  caution  and  prudence  which  speak  volumes  in  regard  to 
their  conviction  of  the  influence  which  imprudence  in  these 
points  might  have. 

In  fact,  it  is  only  necessary  to  observe  the  intense  and 
painful  earnestness  with  which  the  patient  and  the  friends 


watch  his  countenance  and  behaviour,  to  be  aware  what  an 
influence  may  be  thus  exerted.  It  is  only  requisite  to  under- 
stand with  what  prying  anxiety  the  sick  man  questions  those 
around  him,  what  the  physician  thinks  and  predicts  of  his 
case,  to  make  him  sensible  how  vigilantly  he  should  be  on 
his  guard,  in  spending  his  judgment  rashly  in  the  case.  All 
this  negative  Avisdom,  in  the  application  of  moral  means,  is 
sufficiently  common.  Not  to  possess  it,  in  a  considerable  de- 
gree, would  indicate  a  physician  unacquainted  with  the  most 
common  etiquette  of  a  sick  chamber. 

But,  as  yet,  we  see  the  positive  employment  of  these  means 
almost  wholly  interdicted  by  custom  to  regular  physicians. 
We  contend  for  their  exercise  only  within  the  limits  of  the 
most  scrupulous  veracity  and  the  most  severe  discretion f 
What  powers  would  he  not  exert,  who,  snatching  these  moral 
means  from  the  hands  of  empirics,  and  who,  to  thorough  ac- 
quaintance with  all  that  can  be  known  in  regard  to  physical 
means,  should  join  the  wise  and  discriminating  aid  of  an 
imagination  creating  a  healing  world  of  hope  and  confidence 
about  the  patient  ?  Such  a  benefactor  of  our  species  will, 
ere  long,  arise,  who  will  introduce  a  new  era  into  medicine. 

Who  can  doubt  that  implicit  faith  in  the  healing  powers 
of  prince  Hohenloe  may  have  wrought  cures,  even  in  cases 
of  paralysis,  without  the  least  necessity  for  introducing  the 
vague  and  misapplied  term,  a  miracle  ;  or  that  some  out  of 
many  persons  in  an  asylum  of  paralytics  would  find  them- 
selves able  to  fly  when  bombs  fell  upon  the  roof  of  their 
receptacle  ? 

The  influence  of  a  vigorous  will  upon  the  physical  move- 
ments of  our  frame  has  scarcely  been  conjectured,  much  less 
submitted  to  the  scrutiny  of  experiment.  Yet  it  would  be 
easy,  I  think,  to  select  innumerable  cases  where,  by  its 
means,  men  have  exerted  powers  previously  unknown  to 
themselves.  We  see  the  immediate  application  of  almost 
superhuman  energy  upon  the  access  of  frenzy  to  the  patient ; 
and  this  affords  conclusive  proof  that,  upon  the  addition  of 
the  due  amount  of  excitement,  the  body  and  mind  become 


220 

capable  of  incredible  exertions,  and  yet  sink  into  infantine 
debility  the  moment  that  the  excitement  is  withdrawn.  Every 
one  has  been  made  aware  of  what  mere  resolution  can  do,  in 
sustaining  the  frame  in  cases  of  cold,  exposure,  'hunger  and 
exhaustion.  All  these  instances  are  only  different  forms  oJ 
proof,  which  might  be  multiplied  indefinitely,  of  the  agency  of 
moral  powers  upon  physical  nature.  Under  similar  influences, 
omens  and  predictions,  in  weak  and  superstitious  minds,  be- 
come adequate  causes  of  their  own  completion.  Since  per- 
fect knowledge  alone  can  deliver  the  mind  from  more  or  less 
susceptibility  of  this  influence,  it  is  important  that  it  should 
be  wisely  directed  to  bear,  as  far  as  it  may,  upon  the  imagina- 
tion, in  kindling  it  to  confidence,  cheerfulness  and  hope. 

Note  18,  page  79. 

'  Why  drew  Marseilles's  good  bishop  purerbrealh, 
When  the  air  sickened,  and  each  gale  was  death  ?' 

Because  he  was  sustained  by  a  cheerful  reliance  upon 
Providence,  a  firm  determination  to  do  his  duty,  and  have  no 
fear  of  consequences.  The  whole  scope  of  my  own  observa- 
tion, beside  the  sick  bed,  perfectly  coincides  with  these  views. 
I  do  not  say  that  there  are  not  numberless  exceptions.  But 
of  this  I  am  confident,  that  the  general  rule  is,  that  persons 
who  attend  the  sick  and  dying,  in  cases  of  epidemic  disease 
of  a  mortal  type,  with  a  fearless  and  cheerful  mind,  escape  ; 
while  the  timid,  who  are  alarmed  and  have  an  implicit  belief 
in  the  danger  of  contagion,  succumb. 

No:e    19,  page  83. 

If  there  ever  was  an  age  when  invalids  and  the  suffering 
might  promise  themselves  sympathy  in  the  dolorous  detail 
of  their  symptoms,  which  is  questionable,  it  certainly  is  not 
now,  during  the  era  of  labor-saving  machinery,  political 
economy,  and  the  all  engrossing  influence  of  money  and  cor- 
porate achievement.  He  who  now  suffers  from  acute  pain, 
in  any  form,  will  do  wisely  to  summon  all  his  strength  and 


221 

philosophy  to  suppress  any  manifestation  in  his  countenance 
and  muscles,  rather  than  task  his  eloquence  in  framing  his 
tale  of  symptoms. 

This  whole  chapter  upon  health  abounds  in  the  highest 
practical  wisdom,  and  the  hints  in  it  might  easily  be  expanded 
to  a  volume.  I  only  add,  that  I  earnestly  recommend  a  poem 
upon  the  same  subject,  one,  as  it  seems  to  me,  among  the 
most  classical  and  beautiful  in  our  language,  and  which  has 
become  strangely  and  undeservedly  obsolete  —  Dr  Arm- 
strong's Art  of  Health. 

Note  20,  page  83. 

How  often  have  similar  thoughts  pressed  upon  my  mind,  as  I 
have  stood  over  the  bed  of  the  sick  and  dying !  Here  is  the  pe- 
culiar empire  of  minds  truly  and  Aobly  benevolent,  where  the 
head  and  main  prop  of  a  family  is  preparing  to  conflict  with 
the  last  enemy  :  where  pain  and  groans,  terror  and  death,  fill 
the  foreground,  and  the  dim  but  inevitable  perspective  of 
desolation,  struggle  and  want,  in  contact  with  indifference 
and  selfishness,  opens  in  the  distance  before  the  survivors. 
Let  us  thank  God  for  religion.  Philosophy  may  inculcate 
stern  endurance  and  wise  submission ;  but  knows  not  a  fit 
and  adequate  remedy.  The  hopes  and  the  example  imparted 
by  him  who  went  about  doing  good,  are  alone  sufficient  for 
the  relief  of  such  cases,  of  which,  alas  !  our  world  is  full. 

Note  21,  page  86. 

fto  view  of  human  life  is  more  consoling  or  just  than  that 
presented  in  these  paragraphs.  Yet  no  human  calculation 
will  ever  reach  the  sum  of  agony  that  has  been  inflicted  by  the 
jealousy,  envy  and  heart-burning  that  have  resulted  from  that 
most  erroneous  persuasion,  that  certain  conditions  and  cir- 
cumstances of  life  bring  happiness  in  themselves.  Beauti- 
fully has  the  bible  said,  that  '  God  has  set  one  thing  over 
against  another'  —  has  balanced  the  real  advantages  of  the 
different  human  conditions.  The  result  of  my  experience 
19* 


222 


would  leave  me  in  doubt  and  at  a  loss,  in  selecting  the  condi- 
tion which  I  should  deem  most  congenial  to  happiness.  I 
should  have  to  balance  abundance  of  food,  on  the  one  hand, 
against  abundance  of  appetite,  on  the  other  ;  the  habit  super- 
induced by  the  necessity  of  being  satisfied  with  a  little,  with 
the  habit  of  being  disgusted  with  the  trial  of  much.  There 
are  joys,  numerous  and  vivid,  peculiar  to  the  rich  ;  and  others, 
in  which  none  but  those  in  the  humbler  conditions  of  life  can 
participate.  In  the  whole  range  of  the  enjoyment  of  the 
senses,  if  there  be  any  advantage,  it  belongs  to  the  poor. 
The  laws  of  our  being  have  surrounded  the  utmost  extent  of 
human  enjoyment  with  adamantine  walls,  which  one  condition 
can  no  more  overleap  than  another.  It  is  wonderful  to  see 
this  admirable  adjustment,  like  the  universal  laws  of  nature, 
acting  everywhere  and  upon  everything.  Even  in  the  phy- 
sical world,  what  is  granted  to  one  country  is  denied  to 
another;  and  the  wanderer  who  has  seen  strange  lands  and 
many  cities,  in  different  climes,  only  returns  to  announce,  as 
the  sum  of  his  experience  and  the  teaching  of  years,  that 
light  and  shadow,  comfort  and  discomfort,  pleasure  and  pain, 
like  air  and  water,  are  diffused  in  nearly  similar  measures 
over  the  whole  earth. 

Note  21,  page  88. 

It  needs  but  little  acquaintance  with  human  condition  to 
perceive,  in  the  general  adjustment  of  advantages  settled  by 
Providence,  that  great  proportions  of  them  have  been  thrown 
into  opposite  scales,  and  so  contrasted  that  the  selection  of 
one  class  implies  the  rejection  of  the  other.  For  example, 
smitten  with  the  thousand  temptations  of  wealth,  you  are 
determined  to  be  rich.  Be  it  so.  Industry,  frugality  and  the 
convergence  of  your  faculties  to  this  single  point  will  hardly 
fail  to  render  you  so.  But  then  you  will  not  be  so  absurd  as 
to  envy  another  the  fame  of  talents  and  acquirements  which 
required  absorbing  devotion  to  pursuits  incompatible  with 
yours. 

You  are  rich,  and  complain  of  satiety  and  ennui.    Knew 


223 


you  not,  when  you  determined  to  be  rich,  that  poor  people 
sing  and  dance  about  their  cabin  fires  ?  You  have  gained 
power  and  distinction  and  discovered  the  heartless  selfishness 
°f  your  competitors  and  dependents.  Were  you  ignorant 
that  friendship  can  only  be  purchased  by  friendship ;  and 
that,  in  selecting  your  all-engrossing  pursuit,  you  have  pre- 
cluded yourself  from  furnishing  your  quota  of  the  reciprocity  ? 
The  choices  of  life  are  alternatives.  You  may  select  from 
this  scale,  or  that.  But,  in  most  cases,  you  cannot  take  from 
both.  How  much  murmuring  would  be  arrested  if  this  most 
obvious  truth  were  understood  and  men  would  learn  to  be 
satisfied  with  their  alternative  !  Choose  wisely  and  delibe- 
rately ;  and  then  quietly  repose  on  your  choice.  Say,  '  I  have 
this  ;  another  has  that.  I  am  certain  that  I  have  my  choice. 
I  do  not  know  but  his  condition  was  forced  upon  him.' 

Note  22,  page  89. 

If  I  have  ever  allowed  myself  the  indulgence  of  envy,  it  is 
after  having  tasted  the  pleasure  of  rewarding  merit,  or  reliev- 
ing distress,  in  thinking  how  continually  such  celestial  satis- 
factions are  within  the  reach  of  the  opulent.  What  a  calm 
is  left  in  the  mind  after  having  wiped  away  tears !  What 
aspirations  are  excited  in  noting  the  joy  and  gratitude  conse- 
quent upon  misery  relieved !  How  delightful  to  recur  to  the 
remembrance  during  the  vigils  of  the  night  watches  !  How 
it  expands  the  heart  to  reflect  upon  the  consciousness  of  the 
all  powerful  and  all  good  Being,  measuring  the  circuit  of  the 
universe  in  doing  good !  Unhappily,  the  experience  of  all 
time  demonstrates  that  the  possession  of  opulence  and  power 
not  only  has  no  direct  tendency  to  inspire  increased  sensi- 
bility to  such  satisfactions,  but  has  an  opposite  influence.  For 
one,  rendered  more  kind  and  benevolent  by  good  fortune,  how 
many  become  callous,  selfish  and  proud  by  it!  Kindly  and 
wisely  has  Providence  seen  fit  to  spare  most  men  this  dan- 
gerous trial. 


224 


Note  23,  page  92. 

This  chapter  of  the  author,  among  the  rest,  has  been  ob- 
noxious to  severe  strictures.  I  am  sensible  that  the  young 
require  the  exercise  of  cautious  discretion  in  few  questions 
more  than  in  this,  'How  far  is  it  wise  to  disregard  public 
opinion  ?'  To  press  the  point  too  far  is  to  incur  the  reputation 
of  eccentricity  and  arrogant  confidence  in  our  ownjudgment. 
Implicitly  to  copy  the  expressions  and  habits  of  the  multi- 
tude precludes  all  pursuit  of  happiness  by  system  ;  and  re- 
duces the  whole  inquiry  to  the  injunction,  to  walk  with  the 
rest,  and  add  our  ennui  and  disappointment  to  the  mass  of 
the  unhappiness  of  all  those  who  have  gone  before.  If  cer- 
tain modes  appear  to  me,  after  the  most  deliberate  examina- 
tion, conducive  to  my  happiness,  why  should  I  be  deterred 
from  adopting  them,  because  I  am  not  countenanced  by  the 
general  opinion  and  example  of  a  crowd,  each  individual  of 
which  I  should  altogether  reject  as  a  teacher  and  an  example  ? 
If  I  avow  that  the  ten  thousand,  in  all  time,  have  formed  the 
most  erroneous  judgments,  touching  the  wisdom  of  human 
pursuits,  why  should  I  continue  blindly  to  copy  their  errors  ? 
He  is  certainly  the  most  fortunate  man  who,  if  an  exact 
account  of  his  sensations  and  thoughts  could  be  cast  into  a 
Bum  at  his  last  hour,  would  be  found  to  have  enjoyed  the 
greatest  number  of  agreeable  moments,  pleasurable  sensa- 
tions and  happy  reflections.  If  to  court  retirement,  repose, 
the  regulation  of  the  desires  and  passions,,  and  the  cultivation 
of  those  affections  which  are  best  nurtured  in  the  shade,  be 
the  most  certain  route  to  happiness,  why  should  T  be  swayed 
from  choosing  that  path  by  the  suggestions  of  ambition,  ava- 
rice and  the  spirit  of  the  world,  which  enjoin  the  common, 
course  ? 

Yet  every  one  is,  more  or  less,  a  slave  to  the  prevalent 
fashions  of  thinking  and  acting.  How  much  vile  hypocrisy 
does  this  slavery  which  covers  the  face  of  society  with  avast 
mask  of  semblance,  engender?  Contemplate  the  routine  of 
all  the  professions  which  we  make  and  infringe  in  a  single 
day,  in  the  manifest  violation  of  our  inward  thought  and 


225 

belief;  and  we  must  admit  that  the  world  agrees  to  enact  a 
general  lie,  alike  deceiving  and  deceived,  through  terror  of 
being  the  first  to  revolt  against  the  thraldom  of  opinion.  The 
very  persons,  too,  who  cherish  the  profoundest  secret  con- 
tempt for  the  judgment  of  the  multitude,  are  generally  the 
loudest  and  the  first  in  decrying  any  departure  from  the 
standard  of  public  opinion  almost  as  an  immorality. 

I  would  by  no  means  desire  to  see  those  most  dear  to  me 
arrogantly  setting  at  defiance  received  ideas  and  usages. 
These  have,  as  the  author  justly  remarks,  a  salutary  moral 
sway  in  repressing  the  influence  of  the  impudent  and  aban- 
doned. I  am  not  insensible  to  the  danger  of  following  our 
independent  judgment  beyond  the  limits  of  a  regulated  dis- 
cretion. But  there  is  no  trait  in  the  young  for  which  I  feel 
a  more  profound  respect,  than  the  fixed  resolved  to  consult 
their  own  light,  in  setting  the  rules  of  their  conduct  and 
selecting  their  alternatives.  A  calm  and  reflecting  inde- 
pendence, an  unshaken  firmness  in  encountering  vulgar  pre- 
judices, is  what  I  admire  as  the  evidence  of  strong  character, 
fearless  thinking  and  capability  of  self-direction. 

Note  24,  page  95. 

How  often  must  every  reflecting  mind  have  been  led  to 
similar  views  of  human  nature  !  To  form  just  estimates  and 
entertain  right  sentiments  of  our  kind,  we  must  not  contem- 
plate men  under  the  action  of  the  narrowness  of  sectarian 
hate,  or  through  the  jaundiced  vision  of  party  feeling.  We 
must  see  them  in  positions  like  those  so  happily  presented  by 
the  author,  when  great  and  sweeping  calamities  level  men  to 
the  consciousness  and  the  sympathies  of  a  common  nature, 
and  a  sense  of  common  exposure  to  misery,  and  open  the 
fountains  of  generous  feeling.  Who  has  not  seen  men,  on 
such  occasions,  forget  their  pride,  their  miserable  questions 
of  rank  and  precedence,  and  meet  with  open  arms  and  the 
mingled  tears  of  gratitude  and  relief,  persons,  the  view  of 
whom  under  other  circumstances,  would  have  called  forth 
only  feelings  of  scornful  comparison  and  reckless  contempt? 


226 

The  incident  of  the  hostile  French  and  German  posts  is  a 
singularly  touching  one.  In  what  a  horrid  light  does  it  place 
the  character  and  passions  of  princes,  generals,  conquerors 
and  warriors,  in  all  time,  who  for  their  measureless  cupidity, 
or  the  whim  of  their  ambition,  have  used  these  amiable  beings, 
formed  with  natural  sympathies  to  aid  and  love  each  other? 
as  the  mechanical  engines  of  their  purposes,  to  meet  breast 
to  breast  as  enemies,  and  plunge  the  murderous  steel  into  each 
others'  hearts  !  Hence,  rivers  of  life  blood  have  flowed  as 
uselessly  as  rain  falls  upon  the  ocean  !  It  is  difficult  to  deter- 
mine whether  we  ought  most  to  execrate  the  accursed  am- 
bition of  the  few,  or  despise  the  weak  stupidity  of  the  many 
who  have  been  led,  unresistingly,  like  animals  to  the  slaugh- 
ter, only  the  more  firmly  to  rivet  the  chains  of  the  survivors. 
What  a  view  does  war  present,  of  the  miserable  ignorance, 
the  brute  stupidity  of  the  mass  of  the  species,  and  the  detest- 
able passions  of  those  called  the  great,  in  all  time  !  Who 
does  not  exult  to  see  the  era,  every  day  approaching,  when 
men  will  be  too  wise,  too  vigilant  and  careful  of  their  rights 
to  become  instruments  in  the  hands  of  others  ;  when  the 
rational  consciousness  of  their  own  predominant  physical 
power  shall  be  guided  by  wisdom,  self-watchfulness  and  self- 
respect  ?  Then,  instead  of  being  tamely  led  out  to  slay  each 
other,  when  invoked  to  this  detestable  sport  of  kings,  they 
will  show  their  steel  to  their  oppressors. 

Note  24,  page  99. 

I  am  as  much  impressed  with  the  eloquence  of  this  passage 
as  with  its  truth.  I  reserve  more  particular  views  of  religion 
for  comments  on  the  letter  upon  the  subject.  I  wish  to  pre- 
sent in  this  place,  as  consonant  with  the  spirit  of  this  passage, 
one  view  of  religion  which  has  long  been  one  of  my  most 
fixed  and  undoubting  conclusions.  It  is,  that  man  is  a  reli- 
gious being,  by  the  organic  constitution  of  his  frame,  still 
more  than  by  any  intellectual  process  of  reasoning.  I  have 
no  doubt,  that  a  rightly  organized  and  well  endowed  man, 
born  and  reared  in  a  desert  isle,  without  ever  being  brought 


227 

into  contact  with  man  or  any  discipline  to  call  forth  reason  or 
speech,  would  be  subject  to  precisely  the  same  emotions  as, 
varied  and  moulded  by  the  circumstances  of  birth  and  educa- 
tion, constitute  the  substance  of  all  the  religions  in  the  world ; 
in  other  words,  that  man  is  constituted  a  religious  animal  in 
the  same  way  as  he  clearly  is  an  animal  with  other  instincta 
and  passions.  I  am  aAvare,  that  divines  and  moralists  do  not 
often  insist  upon  the  religious  instinct,  as  one  of  the  most 
conclusive  and  convincing  arguments  (to  me,  at  least,)  of  the 
soul's  immortality.  It  seems  with  them  the  favorite  view  to 
consider  religion  a  science  that  may  be  taught,  like  geometry 
or  chemistry. 

To  me,  this  absorbing  subject  presents  a  very  different 
aspect.  I  see  man  everywhere  religious  in  some  form.  The 
sentiment  takes  the  molding  of  his  accidental  circumstances. 
It  is  poetry,  enthusiasm,  eloquence,  bravery  ;  but  in  every 
form  an  aspiration  after  the  vast,  illimitable,  eternal,  shadowy 
conceptions  of  an  unknown  hereafter,  that  the  senses  have 
not  embodied.  It  is  rational  or  fanciful,  it  is  respectable  or 
superstitious,  it  is  a  pure  abstraction  or  a  gorgeous  appeal  to 
the  senses,  according  to  one's  country,  training  and  tempera- 
ment. But  man,  whether  he  be  a  dweller  in  the  far  isles  of  the 
sea,  or  in  the  crowded  mart,  whether  Christian  or  savage,  is 
everywhere  found,  in  some  form,  invoking  a  God  and  reposing 
the  hopes  and  affections  of  his  worn  heart  in  another  and  a 
hetter  world;  and  extending  his  faith  to  an  immortal  life  and 
an  eternal  sphere  of  action. 

Instead  of  searching  for  this  universal  principle  with  meta- 
physicians, pronouncing  upon  it  with  dogmatists,  or  deducing 
it  from  creeds,  or  creeds  from  it,  I  behold  in  it  the  same  un- 
written revelation  which  we  call  instinct.  Vague  and  unde- 
fined as  is  this  law,  and  questioned  by  some  as  is  even  its 
existence,  it  announces  to  us  one  of  the  most  impressive  and 
beautiful  homilies  upon  the  truth  and  goodness  of  the  Author 
of  our  being.  It  may  be  called  the  scripture  of  the  lower 
orders,  guiding  them,  with  unerring  certainty,  to  their  enjoy- 
ments and  their  end.  Beasts  feel  it,  and  graze  the  plain. 
Birds  feel  it,  and  soar  in  the  air.  Fishes  feel  it,  and  dart 


228 

along  their  liquid  domain  ;  each  feeding,  moving,  resting 
playing  and  perpetuating  its  kind,  according  to  its  organic 
laws.  Winter  comes  upon  the  gregarious  tribes  of  water 
fowls  enjoying  themselves  in  the  Canadian  lakes.  They 
listen  to  this  call  from  heaven,  and  mount  the  autumnal 
winds  ;  and  without  chart  or  compass,  by  a  course  to  which 
that  of  circumnavigators  is  devious,  they  sail  to  the  shores  of 
the  south,  where  a  softer  atmosphere  and  new  supplies  of 
food  await  them.  It  leads  the  young  one  of  these  animals, 
scarcely  yet  disengaged  from  the  shell,  to  patter  its  bill  in  the 
dry  sand,  impatiently  to  search  for  water  before  it  has  yet 
seen  it.  It  creates  in  the  new  born  infant  a  purpose  to  search 
for  its  supplies  in  the  yet  untasted  fountains  of  the  maternal 
bosom.  It  guides  all  the  lower  orders  of  being  through  the 
whole  mysterious  range  of  their  peculiar  habits  and  modes  of 
life.  Under  its  influence,  animals  and  men  exercise  powers 
which  transcend  the  utmost  efforts  of  our  reason.  Who  can 
tell  me  why  the  duckling  plunges  into  the  water  with  the 
shell  on  its  head  ?  Who  can  inform  me  how  the  affectionate 
house  dog,  blindfolded  and  conveyed  in  utter  darkness  in  a 
carriage  to  a  distance  of  fifty  leagues,  the  moment  he  is  eman- 
cipated, returns  by  a  more  direct  route  than  that  by  which  he 
came  ?  There  would  be  no  use  in  presenting  the  most  ex- 
tended details  of  these  developments  of  instinct  through  the 
whole  range  of  animated  nature.  Every  one  knows  that 
wherever  we  discern  them,  either  in  the  structure  or  habits 
of  the  animal,  or  both,  they  are  indications  of  unerring  guid- 
ance, the  voice  of  eternal  and  unswerving  truth,  which,  as 
coon  as  promulgated,  is  received  as  the  parental  counsel  of 
the  Author  of  nature. 

He  who  could  interpret  the  language  and  the  gestures  of 
the  lower  orders  would  see  in  the  structure  and  manifested 
wants  of  fishes,  that  water  was  provided  as  a  home  for  them, 
had  he  seen  them  in  the  air.  When  he  had  noted  the  move- 
ments and  heard  the  cries  of  the  new  born  infant,  he  would 
be  in  no  doubt,  that  the  nutriment  in  the  maternal  bosom  was 
stored  for  it  somewhere.  Seeing  the  structure,  the  starting 
pinions  and  plumage  of  the  unfledged  bird  in  its  nest,  he 


229 


could  be  at  no  loss  in  reasoning,  that  as  these  indications  of 
contrivance  for  other  modes  of  life  were  lost  in  its  present 
manner  of  existence,  _it  was  intended  for  movements,  where 
pinions  and  plumage  would  avail  it. 

As  certain  as  these  instincts  and  indications  are  the  pledged 
verity  of  the  Author  of  nature,  that  a  sphere  is  provided  for 
the  exercise  of  these  undeveloped  powers,  and  a  corresponding 
gratification  for  these  instinctive  desires,  so  sure  as  they 
point  out,  in  a  language,  which  can  neither  deceive  nor  be 
mistaken,  the  aim  and  end  of  the  animal  to  which  they  belong, 
so  sure,  if  religion  be  an  instinctive  sentiment,  and  the  hope, 
and  the  persuasion  of  another  existence  result  from  the  or- 
ganic constitution  of  our  nature,  there  must  be  another  life. 
That  it  is  so,  the  usages  and  modes  of  all  people  that  have 
yet  been  known,  the  people  of  the  first  ages,  and  the  last,  the 
people  of  the  highest  refinement,  and  those,  who  scarce- 
ly know  the  use  of  fire,  have  concurred  to  prove  to  us.  Su- 
perficial travellers,  indeed,  have  told  us  of  newly  discovered 
tribes,  who  had  no  visions  of  a  God  —  a  worship,  or  an  here- 
after. Other  travellers  have  followed  them,  and  observed 
better,  and  discovered,  that  their  predecessors  based  the  fact 
on  their  own  ignorance.  They  have  been  found  to  belong  to 
the  general  analogy,  and  to  look  to 

'Some  happier  land  in  depth  of  woods  embraced} 
Some  lovelier  island  in  the  watery  waste.' 

It  seems  to  me,  that  this  universal  agreement  of  religious 
ideas  is  the  most  unequivocal  manifestation,  that  the  senti- 
ment of  religion  is  an  instinct,  that  is  exhibited  in  the  whole 
range  of  animated  nature.  If  so,  it  is  the  offered  pledge  of 
the  divine  veracity,  that  the  soul  is  immortal ;  and  that  as 
certain  as  the  instinct  of  migrating  birds  is  proof,  that  the  mild- 
er skies  which  they  seek,  exist,  and  are  prepared  for  them,  so 
surely  the  undeveloped  powers  of  the  spirit,  which  have  no 
range  on  the  earth,  have  a  country  prepared  also  for  them. 
Our  aspirations,  our  longings  after  immortality,  every  mode 
of  worship,  and  every  form  of  faith  —  are  the  rudiments,  the 
20 


230 


germs,  the  starting  pinions  of  the  embryo  spirit,  which  is  to 
escape  from  its  nest  at  death,  and  fly  in  the  celestial  atmos- 
phere, in  which  it  was  formed  to  move. 

To  me  these  universal  religious  manifestations  are  proofs, 
that  religion  springs  not,  as  some  suppose,  from  tradition ; 
or,  as  others  think,  from  reasoning.  It  is  a  sentiment.  It  is 
an  inwrought  feeling  in  our  mental  constitution,  an  unwritten, 
universal,  and  everlasting  gospel,  pointing  to  God  and  immor- 
tality. Bring  the  most  uninstructed  peasant,  who  has  seen 
nothing  of  the  earth,  but  its  plains,  in  sight  of  Chimborazo. 
The  thrill  of  awe  and  sublimity,  that  springs  within  him  at 
the  view,  and  lifcs  his  spirit  above  the  blue  summits  to  the 
divinity,  is  one  of  the  forms,  in  which  this  sentiment  acts. 
The  natural  mental  movements,  in  view  of  the  illimitable  main, 
of  the  starry  firmament,  of  elevated  mountains,  of  whatever 
is  vast  in  dimension,  irresistible  in  power,  terrible  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  anger,  in  short,  all  those  emotions,  which  we 
call  the  sublime,  are  modified  actings  of  the  religious  senti- 
ment. Justly  has  the  author  pronounced  the  universality  of 
these  ideas  the  highest  testimony  to  the  elevation  of  human 
nature.  It  is  the  most  impressive  and  interesting  attribute 
of  the  soul,  that  it  is  subject  to  these  impulses.  It  is  a  stand- 
ing index,  that  the  godlike  stranger,  imprisoned  in  clay,  has, 
inwrought  in  its  consciousness,  indelible  impressions  of  its 
future  destiny. 

Note  25,  page  101. 

Whoever  philosophically  considers  the  constitution  of  the 
human  mind  —  how  much  we  are  the  creatures  of  our  cir- 
cumstances, how  much  we  are  blown  about  by  impulse  and 
passion,  the  dimness  of  our  own  mental  vision  upon  most 
subjects,  the  narrow  limit,  which  separates  between 
truth  and  falsehood,  right  and  wrong,  and  moreover,  that  we 
ourselves  view  everything  through  the  coloring  of  cur 
own  pride  and  prejudice  —  will  perceive  at  once,  that,  under 
all  circumstances  of  error  and  even  of  crime,  men  are  quite 
as  worthy  of  pity,  as  of  vindictive  blame.  A  little,  cold  and 


231 


e  Ifish  mind  invariably  finds  much  matter  for  bitter  censure  in 
every  act,  that,  according  to  its  own  chart,  is  an  aberration. 
On  the  contrary,  nothing,  in  my  estimate,  so  decidedly  marks 
a  generous  and  noble,  as  well  as  an  enlightened  and  a  philoso- 
phic spirit,  as  the  disposition  to  be  indulgent  in  its  construc- 
tion of  the  views  and  conduct  of  others,  and  to  interpret  all  by 
the  comment  of  palliation  and  kindness,  whenever  the  case 
will  admit  of  them.  Great  minds  fail  not  to  be  conscious 
what  a  weak,  miserable  compound  of  vanity,  impulse,  igno- 
rance and  selfishness  is  that  lord  of  creation,  that  passive 
molding  of  circumstances,  which  we  call  man.  Of  course 
in  calmly  scanning  his  views  and  conduct,  all  other  sensations 
than  those  of  pity  and  kindness,  die  away  within  him.  As  the 
human  mind  is  exalted  by  its  light,  and  its  intrinsic  elevation 
towards  the  divinity,  in  the  same  proportion  it  soars  above 
the  mists  of  its  own  passions  and  prejudices,  and  sees  little  in 
humanity  to  inspire  other  feelings,  than  those  of  compassion 
and  benevolence.  What  is  the  view  of  human  nature,  present- 
ed to  a  wise  and  good  man? 

'  'Tis  but  to  know  how  little  can  be  known, 
To  see  all  others'  faults,  and  feel  our  own.' 

Note  26,  page  102. 

I  am  not  certain,  that  the  real  spirit  of  tolerance  has  made 
so  much  progress  in  this  age,  as  is  commonly  imagined.  Who 
among  us  admits  in  practice,  as  well  as  theory,  that  the  mind 
is  passive  in  receiving  evidence,  and  forming  conclusions, 
•which  it  cannot  shape,  except  according  to  impressions, 
•which  it  has  much  less  power  to  exclude,  or  evade,  than  is  gen- 
erally believed  ?  Who  among  us  acts  on  the  conviction,  that 
errors  of  opinion  are  almost  invariably  involuntary  ?  Every 
view  of  human  nature,  and  the  laws  of  the  human  mind  ought 
to  inspire  us  with  an  unlimited  feeling  of  tolerance  towards 
those  who  differ  from  us  in  opinion,  howsoever  widely.  We 
cannot  fail  so  to  feel,  if  we  reflect  that',  had  we  been  in  their 
situation,  and  under  their  circumstances,  and  they  in  ours,  our 
views  might  have  been  reversed.  Yet  it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  converse  with  any  one  a  few  moments,  without  start- 


232 


ing  them  by  some  opposing  opinion,  that  jars  with  their  ex- 
cited feelings  and  a  certain  amount  of  estrangement  is  the 
result.  Who  can  conduct  a  disputed  point,  in  politics  or 
religion,  with  an  unruffled  temper?  Angry  disputation 
is  only  another  form  of  intolerance.  If  we  narrowly  inspect 
the  actings  of  human  nature,  we  shall  discover,  that  the 
whole  world  is  composed  of  individuals,  almost  every  one  of 
whom  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  be  offended  with  every  other 
one,  who  does  not  adopt  his  opinions. 

It  is  very  true,  that  the  age  of  actual  persecution,  by  fines, 
imprisonment  and  death,  is  gone  by.  But  this  results  rather  from 
practical  political  progress  of  ideas,  than  from  a  settled  convic- 
tion that  no  one  mind  has  a  right  to  find,  in  the  opinions  of  anoth- 
er mind,  cause  of  offence.  Whoever  cannot  look  upon  the  most 
opposite  faith  and  opinions  of  his  neighbor,  in  religion,  in  poli- 
tics, and  the  ordinary  concerns  of  life,  without  any  feeling 
of  temper  and  bitterness,  in  view  of  that  difference,  is  in 
heart  and  spirit  intolerant.  In  this  view,  who  can  justly 
and  fully  lay  claim  to  toleration  ?  The  whole  world  is  divid- 
ed into  millions  of  little  parties  and  sects,  often  finding  the 
bitterest  germs  of  contention  in  the  smallest  differences. 
Scarcely  one  in  ten  thousand,  of  all  these  sects  and  parties, 
has  real  philosophic  magnanimity  enough  to  perceive,  that  all 
other  men  have  as  much  claim  for  indulgence  to  their  opin- 
ions, as  he  exacts  for  his  own. 

Note  27,  page  102. 

It  would  be  amusing,  if  such  important  consequences  did 
not  flow  from  the  error,  to  perceive,  how  much  weight  most 
people  attach  to  the  sect  and  party  to  which  the  persons, 
about  whom  they  are  forming  an  estimate,  belong.  The  ex- 
ternals, the  deportment,  dress  and  manner  are  often  strongly 
influenced  by  these  matters  ;  but  the  mental  complexion  or 
temperament  far  less  than  is  commonly  supposed.  We  meet 
with  people,  every  day,  of  the  most  exclusive  and  bigoted 
creeds,  who  act  liberally :  and  again  with  people,  who  have 
much  liberality  and  Catholicism  in  their  mouths,  and  very 
little  in  their  temper  and  spirit.  I  have  met  with  liberal  and 


233 

illiberal  people,  in  almost  equal  proportions,  in  all  the  sects 
parties  and  denominations,  with  which  I  have  been  acquainted. 
Still,  I  do  not,  as  from  these  remarks  it  might  be  inferred  that 
I  do,  deem  error,  even  in  abstract  opinions,  such  as  those 
which  appertain  to  religious  and  metaphysical  subjects,  as  of 
no  consequence.  But  I  have  not  time,  nor  have  I  place, 
in  a  note,  for  explaining  my  convictions  on  this  subject. 

Note  27,  page  104. 

An  indiscreet  and  exaggerating  zeal  often  injures  the  cause 
it  would  wish  to  serve.  The  gospel  is  best  sustained  by  its  own 
unborrowed  glory,  and  is  prejudiced  by  adventitious  appen- 
dages. I  have  often  heard  ministers  declare,  from  the  pulpit, 
that  the  duty  of  forgiveness,  and  of  loving  and  doing  good  to 
enemies  was  a  peculiar  discovery  of  the  gospel,  a  precept  un- 
known before.  We  have  never  considered  it  among  the  objects 
of  the  mission  of  our  Lord,  to  reveal  a  new  code  of  morals.  The 
grand  eternal  principles  of  this  science  were  originally  en- 
graven on  the  heart.  Man  could  not  have  existed  in  society 
without  them.  Whoever  has  read  the  elaborate  and  elo- 
quent treatises  of  heathen  moralists,  will  perceive,  that  there 
was  little  left  incomplete  in  the  code  ;  and  that  these  sublime 
virtues  were  eulogized,  as  beautiful  and  just  in  theory,  if  not 
to  be  expected  in  practice.  It  is  the  spirit,  unction  and  ten- 
derness of  gospel  inculcation,  that  is  unique  and  original.  The 
heathen  ethical  writers  had  not  failed  to  enjoin  it  upon  the 
members  of  communities,  to  aid  and  love  one  another.  But 
it  is  only  necessary  to  glance  upon  the  apostolic  epistles,  to  see 
that  Christians  were  a  new  and  peculiar  people,  bound  togeth- 
er by  cords  of  affection,  altogether  unknown  in  the  previous 
records  of  the  human  heart.  What  tenderness,  what  love, 
stronger  than  death,  what  sublime  disinterestedness  !  How 
reckless  to  the  sordid  motives  of  ambition  and  interest,  which 
ruled  the  surrounding  world!  We  scarcely  need  other  evi- 
dence, that  this  simplicity  of  love,  so  unlike  aught  the  world 
had  seen  before,  was  not  an  affection  of  earthly  mold ;  and 
that  this  new  and  strong  people  were  not  bound  together  by 
20* 


234 

ties,  which  had  relation  to  the  grossness  of  earthly  bonds. 
To  me  there  is  something  inexpressibly  delightful  and  of 
which  I  am  never  weary,  in  contemplating  the  originality 
and  simplicity  of  early  Christian  affection,  nor  is  it  one  of  the 
feeblest  testimonies  to  the  glory  and  divinity  of  the  gospel. 

For  the  rest,  I  have  much  abridged  the  paragraphs,  to  which 
this  note  alludes,  and  have  interpolated  some  expressions,  not 
found  in  the  original  —  because  I  would  not  allow  myself  to 
leave  anything  equivocal,  touching  my  own  views  of  the  im- 
portance of  Christian  morals  and  example. 

It  would  be  useless,  to  add  to  the  beautiful  views,  presented 
by  the  author,  of  the  disposition  to  oblige,  and  the  necessity 
of  cultivating  modesty,  and  an  equal  and  serene  temper.  One 
cannot  enlarge  upon  these  beaten  topics,  as  he  has  foreseen, 
without  running  into  common-places.  These  virtues  are 
preeminently  their  own  reward.  Whoever  chooses  to  in- 
dulge the  opposite  tempers  has  only  to  reflect,  that  he  as- 
sumes the  thankless  office  of  becoming  a  self-tormentor,  and 
injures  no  one  so  much  as  himself.  Of  these  fierce  passions, 
the  heathen  poets  have  given  us  an  affecting  emblem  in  the 
undying  vultures,  gnawing  upon  the  ever  growing  entrails  of 
Tityus.  If  you  would  form  the  sublimest  conceptions  of  the 
eternal  and  underived  satisfaction  of  the  divinity,  cultivate 
dispositions  to  oblige,  and  seize  occasions  to  practise  benefi- 
cence. If  you  would  image  more  impressive  ideas  of  the 
torment  of  demons  than  poets  have  dreamed,  muse  upon  in- 
juries ;  cultivate  envy  and  revenge,  and  wish  that  you  had 
the  bolts  of  the  thunderer,  only  that  you  might  hurl  them  upon 
your  foes.  If  you  would  experience  the  eternal  gnawing  of 
the  vulture  allow  yourself  in  the  constant  indulgence  of  your 
temper. 

Note  28,  page  109. 

To  those,  who  have  already  assumed  this  tie,  or  contemplate 
assuming  it,  not  a  word  need  be  said  upon  the  most  worn  of 
all  themes,  the  paramount  influence  of  marriage,  beyond  all 
other  relations,  in  imparting  the  coloring  of  brightness  or 


235 

gloom  to  all  subsequent  life.  The  place,  in  which  the 
only  satisfactions  of  life,  that  are  worth  any  serious  pursuit, 
are  to  be  found,  is  within  the  domestic  walls.  Honor,  fame, 
wealth,  luxury,  literary  distinction,  everything  is  extrinsic, 
and  hollow,  everything  the  mere  mockery  and  shadow  of  joy, 
but  the  comfort  of  a  quiet  and  affectionate  home.  Whoever 
does  not  share  this  faith  with  me,  will  hardly  be  enlightened 
to  the  true  sources  of  enjoyment  by  any  lucubrations  of  mine. 
Instead  of  details  and  declamation  upon  this  truth,  I  present 
an  unvarnished,  unexaggerated  view,  an  abstract,  if  I  may  so 
say,  of  the  circumstances,  under  which  the  greater  number 
of  marriages  are  consummated  in  our  country,  and  I  imagine, 
in  most  civilized  countries.  It  may  not  embrace  the  exact 
train  of  the  incidents  connected  with  every  case  ;  but  will 
serve,  in  the  phrase  of  the  makers  of  calendars,  'without  ma- 
terial variation,'  as  an  outline  of  the  history  of  those  court- 
ships that  terminate  in  matrimony.  What  wonder,  that  wed- 
ded life  is  so  often  unhappy! 

I  am  compelled  to  believe,  that  very  few  marriages  take 
place  in  consequence  of  such  an  intimate  acquaintance  of  the 
parties  with  each  other's  unsophisticated  and  interior  charac- 
ter, as  to  justify  the  chances  of  affection  and  domestic  happi- 
ness. The  first  adverse  circumstance  is,  that  both  are  con- 
stantly on  such  a  trial  to  make  a  show  of  wit,  good  temper,  and 
manners,  as  to  render  the  whole  scene,  from  commencement 
to  close,  a  drama,  in  which  all  is  acting ;  in  which  there  is 
no  admission  to  the  real  life  behind  the  scenes,  until  after 
marriage.  How  often  does  the  actor  or  actress,  who  suc- 
cessfully personated  a  wit,  and  an  angel,  detect  in  the  other 
party  a  simpleton,  a  brute,  or  a  termagant !  The  walk  of  life, 
in  which  they  are  found,  may  vary  the  shades,  but  it  changes 
not  the  natural  circumstances  of  a  picture,  which,  in  its 
broader  features,  applies  alike  to  elevated  and  humble  life. 

The  parties,  in  the  bloom  of  life,  in  all  the  excitement  of 
juvenile  buoyancy,  moving  in  the  illumined  atmosphere  of 
imagination,  meet  at  the  party,  ball-room,  assembly,  church, 
or  other  place  of  concourse,  for  which  the  young  dress,  to 


236 


look  around,  and  be  gazed  upon.  They  are  clad  in  their  gay- 
est, and  stand  on  their  best.  No  airs,  or  graces,  that  mothers, 
or  friends,  or  society,  or  their  Chesterfield,  or  their  imagina- 
tions can  suggest,  are  pretermitted.  No  attempted  inflictions 
are  spared  from  any  relentings  of  mercy.  Many  gratuitous 
nods  and  smiles  and  remarks,  and  much  odious  affectation,  in- 
spired by  the  love  of  conquest,  pass  well  enough  in  the 
tinsel  illusion  of  the  scene  and  circumstances.  Accident 
brings  the  couple  into  contact.  They  sing,  dance,  walk,  con- 
verse, or,  in  some  of  these  ways,  are  thrown  together.  Or, 
perhaps,  some  officious  mediator  reports,  to  the  one,  flattering 
remarks  made  by  the  other.  The  first  impulses  to  the  ac- 
quaintance are  those  of  vanity,  and  the  instinctive  attraction 
of  persons,  so  situated,  towards  each  other.  A  vague  and 
momentary  liking,  which  might  be  effaced,  as  easily  as  mists 
vanish  in  the  sun,  is  the  result.  The  lady,  from  the  delicacy 
of  her  organization,  and  the  quickness  of  her  perceptions,  is 
the  first  aware  of  the  new  state  of  mutual  feeling ;  and  by  con- 
joining a  happy  combination  of  coquetry,  shyness,  and  en- 
couragement, adds  fuel  to  the  kindling  spark.  They  converse 
apart,  and  the  masonic  pressure  of  hands  is  interchanged. 
Compliments  ensue,  more  or  less  polished,  and  eloquent,  accor- 
ding to  their  native  readiness  and  artificial  training.  Vanity 
comes  in  with  her  legion  of  auxiliaries,  and,  in  the  same  pro- 
portion as  memory  invests  this  intercourse  with  pleasant  sen- 
sations and  agreeable  associations,  conversation  with  other 
persons,  between  whom  and  themselves  these  processes  have 
not  commenced,  becomes  tasteless  and  irksome  ;  and  ennui 
in  all  other  society  does  its  part  to  put  imagination  in  action. 
They  find  themselves  weary  and  sad  in  separation.  Fancy 
runs  riot  and  begins  to  weave  her  fairy  tissue,  and  to  build  her 
oriental  bowers.  The  parties  are  now  in  love,  as  they  believe, 
and  as  the  world  pronounces.  Now  commence  the  hours  of 
poetry  and  sentimentality  ;  and  the  spring  time  of  their  new 
born  passion.  Not  a  moment,  for  discriminating  observation 
of  each  other's  character,  has  yet  occurred. 
The  freshness  of  the  vernal  inclination  acquires  the  fervor 


237 


of  settled  and  summer  passion.  The  preliminaries  of  form 
are  commenced ;  and  under  such  associations,  and  with  such 
mutual  inclinations,  incompatibility,  unfitness,  opposition 
of  friends,  all  obstacles  that  are  not  absolutely  insur- 
mountable, disappear.  What  parent  can  resist  the  impas- 
sioned eloquence  of  a  child,  or  contemplate  for  a  moment  the 
prospect  of  inflicting  the  agony  of  a  disappointed  and  hope- 
less love !  Have  they  measured  each  other's  understanding 
and  good  sense  ?  No :  this  requires  a  discrimination,  for  which 
in  the  fever,  the  delirium  of  the  senses,  they  have  no  capa- 
city. Know  they  aught  of  each  other's  worth  and  good  temper  ? 
No.  Lovers  find  nothing  to  jar  their  temper,  or  try  their  dis- 
position. Surrounded  by  a  halo  of  imagination,  everything 
about  them  is  invested  with  its  brilliancy.  The  silliest  remark 
of  the  inamorata  sounds  in  the  ears  of  the  lover,  like  the  re- 
sponse of  an  oracle  ;  and  he  is  astonished  and  enraged  that  all 
others  do  not  see,  and  hear  with  him.  Everything  that  is  said 
becomes  wisdom,  and  everything  done  noble  and  graceful. 
Who  has  not  heard  all  these  ascriptions,  all  these  extrava- 
gant eulogies,  applied  to  a  fair  female,  uttering  nothing,  and 
incapable  of  uttering  anything,  but  voluble  and  vapid  non- 
sense ;  or  worse,  ebullitions  of  envy,  detraction  and  bad 
feeling !  Meanwhile,  the  parties,  enveloped  in  illusion,  would 
not  see  real  character,  if  they  could  ;  and  could  not,  if  they 
would.  Is  this  extravagant,  or  exaggerated  ?  Let  the  well 
known  fact,  that  sensible  men  oftener  marry  fools,  and  gifted 
women  coxcombs,  than  otherwise,  be  received  as  evi- 
dence, that  this  great  transaction  is  generally  commenced, 
and  terminated  under  a  spell,  in  which  the  actors  see  nothing, 
as  it  really  is,  and  as  it  appears  to  disinterested  spectators. 
After  having  united  many  hundred  pairs  myself,  and  seen  all 
aspects  of  society,  such  seem  to  me  the  most  common  cir- 
cumstances appended  to  the  beginning,  progress  and  issue  of 
courtship,  in  its  common  forms. 

When  ambitious  views,  the  lust  of  wealth,  and  purposes  of 
aggrandizement,  are  the  prompting  incitements,  the  order  of 
circumstances  indeed  may  be  essentially  varied,  without  much 


238 


altering1  the  result.  The  excitement  of  the  senses  and  the 
illusions  of  the  imagination  give  place  to  these  more  sordid 
motives.  They  are,  however,  equally  absorbing  with  the 
former.  The  faculties,  having  converged  to  the  point  of 
cautious  and  keen  speculation,  allow  no  greater  scope,  and 
furnish  no  happier  facilities,  for  noting  the  development  of 
understanding,  character  and  temper,  than  in  the  other 
predicament.  The  appetite  for  money,  and  the  burning  of 
ambition  may  as  effectually  blind  the  aspirant  to  the  silliness 
and  bad  temper  of  her  who  is  seen  through  the  flattering 
medium  of  his  plans  and  his  hopes,  as  could  his  vanity  and 
his  youthful  inclinations.  How  can  a  person  be  expected  to 
compare,  and  discriminate  traits,  and  the  almost  impercepti- 
ble lights  and  shades  of  character,  whose  whole  mind  is  in- 
tensely concentrated  on  the  chances  of  his  speculation,  the 
fear  of  rivals,  the  danger  of  mishap,  and  the  means  of  has- 
tening the  issue  ?  Who,  under  such  circumstances,  inquires 
about  the  elements  of  happiness  or  misery,  the  good  sense, 
the  regulated  temper,  the  discretion,  health,  temperament, 
and  habits,  that  appertain  to  the  means,  by  which  a  fortune 
and  a  name  are  to  be  obtained  ?  These  are  passed  by,  as 
subordinate  considerations.  Suppose  inquiries  touching  these 
points  to  glance  through  the  mind.  Suppose  the  speculator  to 
have  lucid  glimpses,  and  some  startling  premonitions  of  the 
importance  of  settled  and  discriminating  views,  in  relation 
to  these  matters  ;  contemplated  through  golden  associations 
and  in  the  glare  of  ambitious  hopes,  they  will  be  hardly 
Jikely  to  undergo  a  very  severe  or  sifting  scrutiny. 

The  marriage,  whether  of  love,  of  ambition,  of  convenience 
or  mere  animal  impulse,  takes  place.  The  music  and  dancing 
are  no  more,  and  the  brilliancy  of  the  bridal  torch  is  extinct, 
and  with  those  physical  parapharnalia^  one  mental  illusion  af- 
ter another  begins  to  melt  into  thin  air.  The  discriminating 
faculties,  judgment  and  the  critical  vision,  now  become  mor- 
bidly sensitive  and  severe,  since  satiety  and  the  extinction  of 
fancy  and  the  imagination  have  left  these  capacities  to  un- 
phecked  action,  beholding  the  object  of  their  scrutiny  con- 


239 

tinually,  and  close  at  hand.  The  medium  becomes  as  un- 
naturally dark,  as  it  was  unnaturally  light  before.  A  thousand 
circumstances,  never  dreamed  of  in  the  philosophy  of  love 
and  courtship,  crowd  upon  this  disposition  to  cynical  and 
bilious  criticism.  Manifestations  of  temper  and  character, 
that  once  indicated  to  the  lover,  amiability  and  intelli- 
gence, become,  to  the  moody  husband  or  the  discontented 
wife,  marks  of  a  weak  understanding  and  a  bad  heart ;  and 
in  proportion,  as  they  nourish  despondency  and  disappoint- 
ment, they  destroy  the  capability  of  indulgence  and  forbear- 
ance, and  resist  efforts  to  soothe,  and  correct,  and  con- 
ciliate. 

In  proportion  as  they  become  dissatisfied  with  each  other, 
by  a  mental  progress,  exactly  the  reverse  of  that  which 
brought  them  together,  home  is  enveloped  with  associations  of 
gloom.  The  imagination  finds  sunshine  in  every  other  place  ; 
and  every  other  person  is  sensible  and  attractive,  but  the  one 
they  have  sworn  to  love  and  honor  until  death. 

There  are  those  who  will  see  in  these  revolting  represen- 
tations, a  coloring  of  misanthropy  ;  and  pronounce  this  state- 
ment of  the  case  harsh  beyond  nature.  I  would  it  were  so  ; 
for,  unless  I  deceive  myself,  I  love  my  kind  ;  and  my  only 
object  is,  to  impress  upon  the  young  the  importance  of  in- 
quiring, when  contemplating  this  vital  and  all  important  trans- 
action, whether  they  see  things  in  the  clear  light  of  truth,  and 
as  they  will  certainly  appear  after  the  delirium  of  love  has 
passed  away  ;  or  under  the  nameless  and  numberless  illusions 
of  that  fever  of  the  senses,  of  vanity,  and  instinct,  too  often 
miscalled  by  the  name  of  love.  I  much  mistake,  if  the  greater 
portion  of  the  domestic  infelicity,  which  is  loudly  charged 
upon  the  wedded  state  in  the  abstract,  is  not  owing  to  this 
fascination,  this  incapacity  to  examine  the  only  elements,  on 
which  the  happiness  of  a  family  must  depend.  All  I  would 
Bay,  is,  before  entering  on  this  union,  remember,  that  it  is 
easier  to  repent  before,  than  after  the  evil  is  without  a 
remedy.  Pause  and  scrutinize  ;  and  let  not  the  first  glimpse 
of  real  light  open  your  eyes  to  your  true  condition,  when  it  ia 
irretrievable. 


240 

I  am  as  well  aware,  as  the  author  can  be,  that  there  are 
many  more  happy  marriages,  than  vulgar  opinion  allows,  and 
that  even  in  those,  which  are  not  reputed  happy,  in  which  the 
parties  themselves  have  had  their  criminating  and  complain- 
ing eclaircissemens*  there  is  often  much  more  affection,  than 
has  been  allowed  to  exist.  Such  is  generally  found  to  be 
the  case,  in  the  numberless  attempted  separations,  which 
prove  abortive,  when  the  final  alternative  is  to  be  adopted.  1 
know,  too,  that  the  history  of  the  manifestation  of  conjugal 
affection  is  one  of  the  most  affecting  and  honorable  to  human 
nature,  that  has  ever  been  exhibited.  No  union  of  tender- 
ness and  fortitude  has  ever  been  displayed  in  the  annals  of 
human  nature,  that  can  be  compared  with  the  maternal  love  and 
conjugal  affection  of  a  devoted  wife.  Of  this,  if  I  had  space, 
and  my  scope  were  different,  I  could  cite  numerous,  and 
most  impressive  examples. 

Note  28,  page  110. 

I  beg  leave  to  enter  my  utter  dissent  to  this  doctrine.  It 
seerns  from  a  note  appended  to  this  chapter  of  the  author,  that 
dislike  to  female  authorship  has  been  carried  to  the  most 
ridiculous  lengths  in  France.  This  is  the  more  astonishing, 
as  no  country  has  produced  so  many  admirable  female  writers, 
many  of  them  peculiarly  noted  for  possessing  the  charm  of 
simplicity,  and  freedom  from  pedantry  and  affectation.  A 
woman,  not  less  than  a  man,  is  more  amiable,  interesting  and 
capable  of  sustaining  any  relation  with  honor  and  dignity,  in 
proportion  as  she  is  more  instructed  and  enlightened.  It  is 
to  female  pedants  only,  that  the  ridiculous  question  of  the 
French  academy,  whether  a  reputable  woman  could  write 
a  book,  ought  to  apply.  If  a  woman  really  deserves  a 
crown  of  laurels,  it  sits  more  gracefully  on  her  brow,  than 
any  chaplet  of  roses  that  poet  ever  dreamed  of.  But  let  us 
have  real,  unpresuming  knowledge,  without  pedantry  or 
affectation,  either  of  which  is  always  odious  in  man  or 
woman,  but  certainly,  as  it  seems  to  me,  most  so  in  woman. 


241 


Note  30,  page  115. 

Nothing,  however,  is  more  common,  than  this  contempti- 
ole  ambition  of  wives  to  govern  their  husbands.  It  is  said 
that  there  are  coteries  of  wives,  who  impart  the  rules  in 
masonic  conclave.  Be  it  so.  Whoever  exults  in  having 
usurped  this  empire,  glories  in  her  shame.  If  there  be  any 
axiom  universally  applying  to  this  partnership,  it  is,  that 
the  interest  and  reputation  of  the  concern  must  be  iden- 
tical. However  much  a  wife  may  humble  her  husband,  in 
general  estimation,  by  presenting  him  in  the  light  of  a  weak 
and  docile  subject,  with  all  sensible  persons,  she  humbles  her- 
self still  more.  If  the  slave  is  contemptible,  the  tyrant  is 
still  more  so.  For  the  rest,  this  chapter  contains  more  truth 
and  impressive  eloquence  upon  this  all  important  theme,  than 
I  have  elsewhere  met  in  so  small  a  compass. 

Note  31,  page  117. 

I  present  you  with  the  following  development  of  these  new 
emotions,  which,  I  hope,  you  will  not  find  amiss.  'William 
and  Yensi  were  as  happy  in  this  vale,  as  man  can  hope  to  be 
here  below.  They  would  have  requested  nothing  more  of 
heaven,  than  thousands  of  years  of  this  half  dreaming,  yet 
satisfying  existence'.  A  daughter  was  born  to  them,  a  desert 
flower  of  exquisite  beauty  even  from  its  birth.  New  and 
unmoved  fountains  of  slumbering  and  mysterious  affections 
were  awakened  in  the  deepest  sanctuary  of  their  hearts.  In 
the  clear  waters  of  the  brook,  which  chafed  over  pebbles, 
turfed  with'wild  sage  and  numberless  desert  flowers,  under  the 
overhanging  pines,  in  the  tops  of  which  the  southern  breeze 
played  the  grand  cathedral  service  of  the  mountain  solitudes, 
William  performed,  as  priest,  father  and  Christian,the  touching 
ceremony  of  baptizing  his  babe.  Adding  the  name  Jessy  to  that 
of  the  mother,  it  was  called  Jessy  Yensi.  The  sacred  rite 
was  performed  on  the  sabbath,  as  the  sun  was  sinking  ii\ 
cloud-curtained  majesty  behind  the  western  mountains.  The 
21 

**• 


242 


domestics,  Ellswatta  and  Josepha,  looked  on  with  awe.  Wil- 
liam read  the  Scriptures,  prayed,  and  sang  a  hymn  ;  baptized 
his  babe,  and  handed  the  nursling  of  the  desert  to  Yensi.  As 
she  received  the  beloved  infant  in  her  arms,  after  it  had  been 
consecrated,  as  an  inmate  in  the  family  of  the  Redeemer, 
while  tears  of  tenderness  and  piety  filled  her  eyes  and  fell 
from  her  cheeks,  she  declared,  that  she  would  no  longer  in- 
voke the  universal  Tien,  that  the  God  of  William  and  her 
babe  should  be  her  God,  and  that  they  would  both  call  on  the 
same  name,  when  they  prayed  together  for  the  dear  babe  even 
unto  death.' — Shoslwnee  Valley,  vol.  i.  p.  52,  53. 

Of  the  emotions  excited  by  all  the  incidents  between  the 
cradle  and  the  grave,  none  can  be  compared  for  depth  and 
tenderness  to  those,  called  forth  by  the  birth  and  baptism  of 
the  first  child  of  an  affectionate  and  happy  husband  and  wife. 
Those,  for  whom  this  work  is  more  peculiarly  intended,  will 
be  aware,  to  what  incident  in  our  common  stock  of  remem- 
brances the  above  extract  refers.  Delightful  sentiments,  and 
yet  deeply  tinged  with  sadness  !  What  a  mystery  is  this 
conjoined  miniature  image  of  the  parents,  the  babe  itself! 
What  a  mystery  the  world  with  its  mingled  lights  and  shadows, 
upon  which  the  feeble  stranger  is  entering !  What  a  mystery 
the  unknown  bourne  to  which  it  is  bound  !  What  a  myste- 
ry the  God,  to  whom  it  is  consecrated !  Callous  and  cold 
must  be  the  heart  of  parents,  that  this  mutual  pledge  of  love 
and  duty  will  not  unite  in  one  unchangeable  sentiment  of  love 
and  identity  of  interest,  until  death. 

Note  33,  page  122. 

My  views  touching  the  modes,  in  which  the  best  results 
of  education  are  to  be  obtained,  whether  just  or  erroneous, 
have  at  least  the  advantage  of  being  entirely  practical.  I  am 
sufficiently  convinced,  that  there  must  be  an  adequate  and 
happy  organization  and  mental  development,  without  which 
no  education,  however  wise  and  assiduous,  will  ever  effect 
anything  more,  than  mediocrity  of  character  and  acquirement. 
In  the  present  state  of  public  opinion,  as  great  mistakes  are 


243 


made  by  expecting  too  much  from  the  training  of  schools,  as 
were  formerly  committed  by  attempting  too  little.  The  opu- 
lent, and  people  in  the  higher  walks  especially,  are  tempted 
by  their  condition  to  believe,  that  wealth  and  distinction  can 
purchase,  and  even  command  mind,  and  that  cultivation  of  it,  by 
which  more  enlarged  and  distinguished  minds  differ  from  the 
common  measure  of  intellect;  a  mistake,  than  which  no  other 
is  more  universally,  and  palpably  taught  by  every  day's  expe- 
rience. The  Author  of  our  being  reserves,  and  will  never 
impart  his  own  high  prerogative,  to  bestow  mind  ;  and  he  as  of- 
ten dispenses  the  noblest  and  richest  endowment  of  it  in  the 
lower,  as  in  the  upper  walks  of  life  ;  though,  as  we  have  seen, 
he  has  indicated,  in  the  order  of  nature,  a  process  of  unlimit- 
ed improvement  of  organization  and  endowment. 

But  the  substratum  of  a  practical  and  well  endowed  mind, 
to  begin  with,  being  granted,  I  beg  leave  to  add  my  convic- 
tion to  that  of  M.  Droz,  a  conviction,  which,  as  I  think,  will 
resume  its  authority  and  influence,  when  most  of  the  present 
tedious  and  endless  systems  and  projects  of  education  will 
have  passed  into  their  merited  oblivion.  It  is,  that  strong, 
latent  and  distinguished  character  and  acquirement  receive 
in  domestic  education,  that  predominant  and  fashioning  direc- 
tion, which  they  retain  through  life.  The  peculiar  impress 
of  a  parent,  a  family-friend,  a  single  tutor,  is  often  as  distinctly 
marked  upon  the  whole  after  life  of  the  scholar,  that  becomes 
truly  distinguished,  as  though  he  had  been  wax  in  the  hands 
of  a  moulder.  The  numerous  tutors  of  opulent  families,  and  of 
public  institutions,  seldom  impart  the  same  advantage.  Their 
different  views  and  modes  of  discipline  countervail,  and  neu- 
tralize each  other.  The  Greeks  and  the  great  Romans  taught 
at  home,  the  master  being  a  member  and  an  honored  one  of 
the  family.  The  master  and  the  pupil  walked,  conversed, 
and  pursued  their  amusements  together ;  and  the  sweet  asso- 
ciations of  home  and  the  shade  and  freedom  from  restraint 
were  conjoined  with  the  lessons.  When  the  good  Plutarch 
paints  to  us,  with  his  inimitable  naivctt,  one  of  his  favorite 
characters,  he  indicates  as  his  first  felicity,  that  it  was  his  lot 


244 


to  have  the  training  of  an  Aristotle,  or  some  similar  worthy. 
Consult  the  English  Plutarch  for  the  same  fact.  Could  all  the 
commencing  circumstances  of  most  of  the  great  men,  who 
have  lived,  be  exactly  traced,  we  should  find  the  same  truth 
disclosed.  That  the  development  of  strong  inclination  for 
books,  studies  and  literature  depends  almost  entirely  on  do- 
mestic habits  and  pursuits,  the  family,  in  which  our  common 
remembrances  centre,  is  a  striking  example.  During  the 
years,  in  which  the  minds  of  this  family  received  their  un- 
changeable impress,  the  membeis  were  almost  as  vagrant  in 
their  modes,  as  the  Tartars.  All  their  education,  except  do- 
mestic, was  exceedingly  imperfect  and  desultory.  Books  were 
often  wanting ;  adequate  teachers  always.  But  the  love  of 
the  parents  for  books  and  reading  was  a  simple,  natural,  un- 
affected and  intense  impulse.  They  loved  the  thing  for  its 
own  sake,  and  independent  of  all  its  results.  The  first  in- 
struments of  pleasure,  and  things  of  estimated  value,  that 
greeted  the  infant  eyes  of  the  children,  were  books ;  not 
furniture,  dress,  and  the  imposing  ostentation  of  a  modern 
parlor.  Pleasant  conversations,  disputes,  between  laughter 
and  seriousness,  about  these  books,  were  the  first  conversa- 
tions that  greeted  their  listening  ears.  These  conversations 
were  perceived  to  be  of  deep  and  heart-felt  interest,  and  as 
little  mixed  with  pedantry  and  formality,  as  the  manifestations 
of  instinct.  The  children  saw,  that  to  those,  they  most  loved, 
admired,  and  were  disposed  to  imitate,  books  were  the  grand 
sources  of  interest,  converse  and  enjoyment.  They  as  nat- 
urally imbibed  similar  tastes,  as,  to  use  a  coarse  illustration, 
the  children  of  savages  learn  to  love  hunting.  The  first  thing 
for  which  they  contended,  and  with  which  they  wished  to  play, 
was  a  book,  or  a  picture.  Their  first  lispings  were  trials  of 
skill,  touching  the  comparative  progress,  which  they  had  made 
in  their  knowledge  of  the  contents  of  these  books,  and  the 
application  of  it  to  present  use.  These  trials  they  saw  to  be 
the  chief  points  of  interest  and  amusement  for  their  parents. 
Thus,  habits  of  reading  and  application  greic  wit h  their  growth 
and  strengthened  with  their  strength ;  and  many  a  criticism,  if 


245 


not  erudite  and  profound,  at  least  eliciting  hearty  praise  and 
laughter,  passed  away  unrecorded  in  their  domestic  privacy. 
Their  neighbors  admired,  and,  I  fear,  envied,  and  calumniated ; 
"but  could  not  but  take  astonished  note  of  such  results  in  a 
family  without  wealth,  without  the  common  appliances,  which 
themselves  could  so  much  better  afford,  and  which  they  had 
been  accustomed  to  consider  the  only  price,  at  which  intellec- 
tual improvement  could  be  purchased.  It  was  placed  beyond 
question,  or  denial,  that  the  members  of  that  family  had  right 
views,  quiet  and  unawed  self-respect,  and  could  converse  ra- 
tionally, upon  every  other  topic,  as  well  as  books  ;  that  tact 
and  discrimination  pervaded  their  manifestations  of  thought 
and  pursuit;  and  that  they  possessed  an  inexhaustible  source 
of  amusement,  and  satisfaction  independent  of  wealth,  fashion, 
society,  distinction,  or  any  external  resource  whatever  —  the 
habit  of  internal  reflection,  comparison  and  pleasant  converse 
with  themselves. 

Parents,  when  you  have  imparted  to  your  children  habits 
and  tastes,  like  these,  you  have  bequeathed  them  an  intellec- 
tual fortune,  which  few  changes  can  take  away  ;  and  which 
is  as  strictly  independent,  as  anything  earthly  can  be.  You 
have  unlocked  to  their  gratuitous  use  perennial  fountains  of 
innocent  and  improving  enjoyment.  You  have  secured  them 
forever  against  the  heart-wearing  gloom  of  ennui,  insufficiency 
to  themselves,  and  slavish  dependence  upon  others  for  amuse- 
ment. Spend  as  lavishly  as  you  may,  in  multiplying  fashion- 
able instructors,  and  blazon,  as  much  as  you  will,  the  advan- 
tages of  your  children;  if  they  do  not  perceive,  while  the 
rudiments  of  their  taste  and  habits  are  forming,  that  you 
consider  literature,  science  and  the  improvement  of  intellect 
a  matter  of  paramount  interest  and  importance,  you  will  never 
cause  their  stream  to  flow  higher,  than  your  fountain.  An 
occasional  parlor  lecture,  or  a  high  wrought  eulogy,  will  not 
convince  them,  or  avail  to  your  purpose.  They  must  see  this 
preference,  as  all  others,  which  they  will  be  inclined  to  copy, 
manifested  in  your  whole  deportment  and  conversation. 

But,  while  I  am  convinced,  that  parents  will  find  efforts  to 
21* 


246 

train  their  children  to  be  highly  intellectual,  rowing  against 
the  current,  unless  they  evince,  themselves,  by  their  habitual 
examples,  that  they  consider  it  a  higher  attainment,  to  possess 
literature  and  conversational  powers,  than  fashion,  or  wealth 
or  the  common  objects  of  pursuit,  in  other  words,  that  all 
efficient  education  must  be  essentially  domestic,  I  would 
not  be  understood  to  undervalue  public  schools  and  colleges.' 
I  am  aware,  that  in  these  places  are  best  imparted  the  know- 
ledge and  adroitness  that  fit  them  for  the  keen  scramble  of  am- 
bitious competition.  But  in  regard  to  those  boys  who  leave 
their  competitions  behind  the  classes  of  the  university,  I 
think  on  examination,  we  shall  find,  that  the  germ  and  the 
stamina  of  this  progress  were  early  communicated  by  instruc- 
tion and  example  at  home.  At  table,  around  the  evening  fire, 
in  the  Sabbath  walk,  in  the  common  family  intercourse,  in 
the  intervals  of  the  toil  of  your  profession,  whatever  it  be, 
the  taste  and  the  permanent  inclination  for  literature  and  in- 
tellectual cultivation  are  imparted.  This  can  never  be,  if  be- 
hind all  your  eulogy  of  these  things,  you  discover,  that 
your  ruling  passion  is  money,  or  the  sordid  objects  of  com- 
mon puisuit. 

Note  34,  page  124. 

It  is  a  common  and,  I  much  fear,  a  well  founded  complaint, 
that  some  latent  mischief  in  our  system  of  education,  politi- 
cal institutions,  the  ordering  of  our  establishments,  or 
in  all  these  together,  has  generated,  as  a  prevalent  moral 
evil,  filial  unkindness  and  ingratitude.  Scramble,  competition 
and  rivalry  are  the  first,  last,  and  universally  witnessed  order 
of  things  in  our  country.  Nothing  becomes  a  topic  of  conver- 
sation that  is  of  absorbing  interest,  but  acquisition  and  dis- 
tinction. The  manifestations  of  an  intellect,  sharpened  for 
the  pursuit  of  these  things,  is  the  subject  of  most  earnest 
eulogy.  Children,  by  our  usages,  are  early  cast  upon  their 
own  resources,  and  taught  to  shift,  for  themselves.  The  con- 
sequence seems  to  be,  that  the  parental  and  filial  ties  are 
severed,  as  soon  as  the  children  are  able  to  take  care  of  them- 


247 

selves,  almost  as  recklessly,  in  regard  to  subsequent  duty,  piety 
or  affection,  as  those  of  the  lower  animals.  When  we  see  a 
spectacle  so  revolting,  and  unhappily  so  common,  of  sons  who, 
as  soon  as  they  have  realized  the  portion  of  goods  that  falleth 
to  them,  or  of  daughters,  as  soon  as  they  have  secured  lovers 
or  husbands,  forgetting  the  authors  of  their  days,  it  becomes 
us  to  search  deeply  for  the  defect  in  our  discipline,  or  insti- 
tutions, that  originates  the  evil.  The  callous  hearts  of  such 
children  may  no  longer  be  appalled  by  the  terrible  execution 
of  the  Jewish  law  against  such  monsters.  They  may  neither 
feel,  nor  care,  how  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth,  may  be  this 
want  of  filial  piety  to  their  parents,  But,  by  a  righteous  re- 
action of  the  divine  justice,  more  terribly  vindictive  than  the 
threatened  judgment  of  the  Jewish  law,  thankless  children 
bear  in  their  hearts  the  certain  guaranty  of  their  own  self- 
inflicted  punishment.  They  part  forever  with  the  purest  and 
noblest  sentiments  of  the  human  heart ;  and  they  procure 
for  themselves  the  sad  certainty  of  being  cast  off  in  their 
turn,  by  their  children,  in  the  helpless  period  of  their  old  age. 

Note  35,  page  124. 

The  history  of  literature  proves,  that  none  of  the  more  un- 
worthy sentiments  of  human  nature  have  been  so  adverse  to 
friendship,  as  the  vanity  of  literary  rivals.  From  many 
noble  examples  of  a  contrary  kind,  which  we  might  cite,  I 
select  the  intercourse  between  Racine  and  Boileau.  When 
Racine  was  persuaded,  that  his  malady  would  end  in  death, 
he  charged  his  eldest  son  to  write  to  M.  de  Cavoye,  to  ask 
him  to  solicit  the  payment  of  what  was  due  of  his  pension, 
that  his  family  might  not  be  left  without  ready  uoney.  He 
wrote  the  letter  and  read  it  to  his  father.  '  Why  did  you  not,' 
said  he,  '  request  the  payment  of  the  pension  of  Boileau  at 
the  same  time  ?  Write  again,  and  let  him  know,  that  I  was 
his  friend  in  death.'  This  friend  came  to  receive  his  last 
adieu.  Racine  rose  in  bed,  as  far  as  his  weakness  would 
allow.  As  he  embraced  his  friend,  he  said  '  I  regard  it  a 
happiness  to  die  in  your  presence.' 


248 


Note  36,  page  126. 

The  celebrated  Voiture,  one  of  the  beaux  esprits  of  the 
age  of  Louis  XIII.  had  lost  all  his  money,  and  had  an  imme- 
diate call  for  2CO  pistoles.  He  wrote  to  the  Abbe  Costar,  his 
faithful  friend.  This  admirable  letter  presents  us  with  a  trait 
of  thac  confidence  and  frankness,  which  sincere  friendship 
inspires.  It  was  this. 

'I  yesterday  lost  all  my  money,  and  200  pistoles  more,  which 
I  have  promised  to  pay  today.  If  you  have  that  sum,  do  not, 
fail  to  send  it.  If  not,  borrow  it.  Obtain  it,  as  you  may, 
you  must  lend  it  me.  Be  careful,  to  allow  no  one  to  antici- 
pate you,  in  giving  me  this  pleasure.  I  should  be  concerned 
lest  it  might  affect  my  love  for  you.  I  know  you  so  well, 
that  I  am  aware,  you  would  find  it  difficult  to  console  your- 
self. To  avoid  this  misfortune,  rather  sell  what  will  raise  it. 
You  see  how  imperious  my  love  for  you  is.  I  take  a  plea- 
sure in  conducting  in  this  manner  towards  you.  I  feel,  that 
I  should  have  a  still  greater,  if  you  would  be  as  frank  with 
me.  But  you  have  not  my  courage  in  this  point.  Judge,  if  I 
am  not  perfectly  assured  in  regard  to  you,  since  I  will  give  my 
promise  to  him,  who  shall  bring  the  money.'  The  Abbe  Costar 
replied  —  '  I  feel  extreme  joy,  to  be  in  condition  to  render  you 
the  trifling  service,  you  ask  of  me.  I  had  never  thought,  that 
one  could  purchase  so  much  pleasure  for  200  pistoles.  Having 
experienced  it,  I  give  you  my  word,  that,  for  the  rest  of  my 
life,  I  will  retain  a  little  capital,  always  ready  for  your  occa- 
sions. Order  confidently  at  your  pleasure.  You  cannot  take 
half  the  satisfaction  in  commanding,  that  I  shall  in  obeying. 
But  submissive  as  you  may  find  me  in  other  respects,  I  shall 
be  revolted,  if  you  wish  to  compel  me  to  take  a  promise 
from  you.' 

Note  37,  page  128. 

Although  I  do  not  intend  to  cite  in  this  place  the  story  of 
Damon  and  Pythias,  nor  to  harp  upon  discussions  of  a  theme, 


249 


upon  which  there  has  been  more  odious  prosing,  and  more 
semblance  of  sentiment  than  all  others,  yet  a  subject,  in- 
trinsically of  the  first  importance,  and  founded  in  nature,  can 
never  cease  to  have  claims  upon  attention,  in  consequence  of 
having  been  hackneyed  to  thread-bare  triteness.  There  is 
such  an  affection,  as  friendship.  It  belongs  to  man,  and  is  the 
highest  honor  of  his  nature,  less  gross  and  terrene,  than  the 
short  epilepsy,  the  transient  and  fitful  fever  of  the  senses, 
commonly  dignified  with  the  name  of  love,  and  warmer,  more 
exhilarating,  and  elevated,  than  mere  esteem,  and  common 
liking ;  it  excites,  without  inflaming ;  it  thrills,  without 
jealousy,  corroding  fear,  or  morbid  solicitude.  It  is  that  sen- 
timent, which  a  poet  would  naturally  assign  to  intellectual 
beings  of  a  higher  order,  who  were  never  invested  with  the 
corporeal  elements  of  mortality. 

I  wish  those,  most  dear  to  me,  implicitly  to  believe  in  friend- 
ship. I  would  a  thousand  times  prefer,  that  they  should  err 
on  the  side  of  credulity,  than  of  suspicion  and  distrust.  I  de- 
precate, above  all  things,  that  they  should  give  up  human 
nature.  I  consider  xeal  misanthropy  the  last  misfortune.  T 
would,  rather,  my  children  should  meet  with  treachery  and 
inconstancy  every  day  of  their  lives,  than  resign  themselves 
to  the  morbid  and  heartless  persuasion,  weakly  considered  an 
attribute  of  wisdom  and  greatness,  that  men  are  altogether 
selfish,  and  unworthy  of  confidence.  It  is  a  persuasion,  that 
not  only  forever  invests  the  universe  in  an  Egyptian  gloom, 
'  that  may  be  felt,'  but,  by  an  energetic  bearing  on  all  the 
faculties  and  sources  of  feeling,  causes  the  heart,  that  en- 
tertains such  views  to  become  what  it  believes  to  be  the 
character  of  the  species. 

No  scruples  of  false  decorum  shall  withhold  me  from  say- 
ing, that,  amidst  all  the  selfishness,  which  optics  of  the  most 
charitable  vision  could  not  but  discover  on  every  side,  I  have 
seen  friendship,  pure,  holy,  disinterested,  like  that  of  the 
angels  ;  nay,  more  —  have  been  myself  the  subject  of  it. 
My  heart  swells,  and  will  to  its  latest  pulsation,  with  the 
remembered  proofs.  True,  the"  instances,  that  have  fallen 


250 


within  the  compass  of  my  experience,  are  very  few.  But 
they  are  sufficient  to  settle  my  conviction,  that  the  senti- 
ment, which  has  inspired  the  enthusiasm  of  eloquence,  paint- 
ing and  song,  in  all  time,  is  not  the  illusion  of  a  weak  and 
misguided  imagination.  Selfish  as  man  is,  we  often  see  in- 
stances of  the  most  generous  and  devoted  friendship,  even 
in  this  silver  age,  the  age  of  revenue  and  political  economy. 
With  my  author  I  believe,  that  where  the  sentiment  ex- 
ists between  a  man  and  a  woman,  admitting  each  to  possess 
the  estimable  endowments  peculiar  to  each  sex,  and  so  ex- 
ists, as  not  to  be  modified  by  any  of  those  countless  associa- 
tions of  another  order  of  sentiment,  that  almost  impercepti- 
bly invest  relations  between  the  two  sexes,  it  is  more  vivid, 
permanent  and  disinterested,  more  capable  of  making  sacrifi- 
ces, and  more  tender  and  delightful  than  it  can  be  between  per- 
sons of  the  same  sex.  Of  this  class  are  the  most  noble,  touch- 
ing and  sublime  examples  of  a  constancy  under  every  form 
of  proof,  that  the  history  of  the  human  heart  records. 

While  every  one  is  sensible,  that  there  must  exist 
between  characters,  that  are  susceptible  of  all  the  fidel- 
ity and  beauty  of  this  sentiment,  a  certain  adaptation  of 
circumstances,  and  conformity  of  disposition,  mind,  develop- 
ment and  temperament,  I  believe  with  St  Pierre,  that  it  is 
desirable,  that  there  should  be  a  certain  contrast  as  well  as 
much  fitness.  Constant  assentation,  the  same  opinions,  tastes, 
tempers  and  views  have  been  found  by  experience,  not  to  gen- 
erate the  most  permament,  and  pleasant  unions  of  the  sort. 
The  moral,  as  well  as  the  physical  appetite,  would  grow 
weary  of  perpetual  uniformity  and  unvarying  similarity,  and 
requires  the  spice,  afforded  by  the  mixture  of  various  ingre- 
dients of  affectionate  contrariety.  Both  the  love  and  friend- 
ship, most  likely  to  endure,  spring  up  between  the  placid  and 
piquant,  the  tranquil  and  energetic,  the  monotonously  sweet 
tempered  and  the  sensitive,  whose  irritability  is  held  in 
check  by  good  sense,  kindness  and  self-control ; —  between 
the  te  mperament,  connected  with  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair, 
and  that  of  the  keen,  deep  black  eye,  and  raven  locks.  Sol* 


251 


diers,'  says  St  Pierre,  'on  long  and  distant  expeditions, 
should  be  associated  with  ministers,  lawyers  with  naturalists, 
and  in  general,  the  strongest  contrasts  of  profession'  —  all 
nature's  discord  thus  making  all  nature's  peace.  But  I  am 
perfectly  aware,  that  there  will  be  great  danger  of  making 
fatal  mistakes,  in  acting  on  this  principle.  I  am  confident, 
that  is  true  in  the  abstract ;  but  let  sentimentalists  beware  of 
trenching  too  confidently  on  ground,  where  the  limits  between 
safety  and  ruin  are  so  narrow,  and  difficult  to  discern.  Doves 
of  a  different  feather  may  pair  happily,  but  not  doves  and  vul- 
tures. There  must  be  a  certain  compatibility  not  only  of  char- 
acter, but  of  age,  condition  and  circumstances,  as  we  are 
broadly  instructed  in  the  fable  of  the  frog  thinking  to  wed 
with  the  ox. 

Any  discussion  of  the  details,  touching  the  requisite  circum- 
stances of  compatibility  to  form  friendships  with  any  chance  of 
their  being  pleasant  and  permanent,  as  well  as  the  obligations 
and  duties  involved  by  it,  would  require  a  volume,  and  would 
carry  me  utterly  beyond  my  present  purpose.  Books  are  ample, 
if  not  interesting  and  just,  in  the  information  which  they  im- 
part upon  this  subject.  With  my  views  of  its  obligations  and 
duties  in  few  words,  I  shall  dismiss  it. 

In  a  pecuniary  point  of  view  the  claims  of  friendship  are 
only  limited  by  the  sterner  demands  of  justice.  The 
common  adage,  which  calls  upon  us  to  be  just,  before  we  al- 
low ourselves  to  be  generous,  is  worthy  to  be  written 
in  letters  of  gold  ;  though  it  has  been  a  thousand  times  wrest- 
ed by  selfish  and  cold  hearts,  into  a  pretext  for  their  avarice. 
Whoever  should  think  of  lavishing  his  money  upon  a  friend, 
in  order  to  absolve  himself  from  the  more  difficult  calls  of 
justice,  would  show  a  mind,  too  weak  and  incapable  of  dis- 
crimination, to  honor  that  friend  by  his  bounty.  But,  grant 
that  the  friends  have  delicacy,  consideration  and  gentlemanly 
tact,  and  they  may  possess  a  common  purse,  without  danger 
to  the  duties  of  either. 

The  fame  and  character  of  the  one  are  strictly  the  prop- 
erty of  the  other.  Let  no  one,  who  has  the  least  particle  of 


252 


the  base  alloy  of  envy  in  his  feelings  towards  him,whom  he  calls 
his  friend,  who  is  willing  to  hear,  and  countenance  abate- 
ments of  his  qualities,  talents,  or  virtues,  dare  to  assume  that 
almost  sacred  name.  He  is  equally  unworthy  of  it,  if  he 
stand  by  in  neutrality  when  calumny  is  busily  passing  against 
him  ;  and  still  more,  if  by  smiles  he  gives  his  countenance, 
and  half  his  consent  to  the  story  of  detraction  and  abate- 
ment. It  is  a  forfeiture  of  the  right  to  the  name,  though  it 
may  be  a  less  worthy  one,  to  make  the  person,  called 
friend,  the  subject  of  jest  and  ridicule.  In  regard  to  all  these 
points,  the  duties  are  clear,  distinct,  palpable  and  not  to  be 
compromised.  Every  honorable  mind  feels,  in  witnessing  any 
infraction  of  the  laws  of  equity,  or  strict  justice,  a  sentiment  of 
recoil  and  disgust,  difficult  perhaps  to  define,  but  one  which 
instantly  designates  the  person  guilty  of  it,  as  unworthy  of 
the  name  of  friend.  Honest,  frank  and  disinterested  ad- 
vice, especially  in  relation  to  concerns  of  great  interest  to 
the  party,  is  a  paramount  obligation,  whether  the  advised 
will  bear,  or  forbear.  This  prerogative  may,  indeed,  be 
claimed  by  unfeeling  and  rude  bluntness.  But,  by  a  discrimi- 
nating mind,  the  suggestions  of  a  counterfeit,  will  never  be 
mistaken  for  those  of  genuine  friendship. 

The  time,  the  courtesy  and  the  amount  of  intercourse,  due 
from  one  friend  to  another,  can  never  be  brought  under  sub- 
jection to  rules.  Moral,  like  physical  attraction,  acting  uncon- 
sciously, will  regulate  this  portion  of  duty,  with  the  unvary- 
ing certainty  of  the  laws  of  nature.  If  persons,  claiming  to 
sustain  this  relation  to  each  other,  do  not  wish  to  be  as  much 
together,  as  duty  and  propriety  will  admit ;  if  they  allow  this 
matter  to  be  settled  by  the  rigid  tithing  of  etiquette,  they  are 
anything  rather  than  real  friends. 

I  have  been  struck  by  an  incident  in  the  life  of  a  religious 
woman,  I  think  it  was  Mrs  Graham.  There  was  a  sacramental 
pledge  between  her  and  a  friend,  that,  whichever  of  them 
should  be  first  called  from  life,  the  other  should  visit  her  in  the 
sickness,  which  she  should  consider  her  last,  and  not  leave 
her,  until  she  had  received  her  last  sigh.  Sublime  test  of  affec- 


253 


tion !  what  a  tender,  sacred  office,  after  a  life  of  friendship, 
thus,  by  a  sacramental  contract,  to  close  the  eyes  of  the  friend 
beloved  in  life,  and  separated  only  by  death !  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  feelings,  called  thus  into  action,  are  peculiarly 
fitted  to  mitigate  the  last  sorrows;  and  in  the  simple  grandeur 
of  such  a  sentiment,  so  manifested,  the  departing  friend  will  see 
a  proof,  that  such  affections  are,  in  there  own  nature,  immor- 
tal ;  and  that  such  ties  shall  be  renewed  in  the  eternal  regions 
of  the  living. 

When  friends  are  separated  wide  from  each  other  by  dis- 
tance, duty,  and  the  stern  calls  of  our  pursuits,  I  admire  the 
custom  of  baptizing,  if  I  may  so  say,  our  remembrances,  by 
giving  the  names  of  our  dear  and  distant  friends  to  the  hills 
valleys,  streams,  trees  or  pleasant  views  in  our  walks  ;  or  the 
objects  most  familiar  and  pleasant  to  our  view.  The  stern 
silence  of  nature  may  thus  be  compelled  to  find  a  tongue, 
and  discourse  with  us  of  those  we  love. 

In  a  word,  the  name,  I  am  sensible,  is  too  often  a  morbid 
mockery  of  cold  and  affected  sentimentalism,  both  weak  and 
disgusting,  the  cant  term  for  the  intercourse  between  the 
enlarged  prisoners  of  boarding  schools.  But  the  sentiment 
exists,  pure,  simple  delightful.  Neither  fawning,  nor  cant,  nor 
flattery,  nor  any  mixture  of  earth's  mould  makes  any  part  of  it. 
Honorable,  dignified,  unshaken,  it  feels  its  obligations,  and 
discharges  them.  The  reputation,  character  and  whole  in- 
terest of  the  friend  is  its  object;  and  his  highest  happiness 
its  prayer.  In  holy  segregation  from  the  hollow  intercourse, 
false  phrases  and  deceitful  compliments  of  fashion,  and 
what  is  called  the  world,  it  is  faithful  and  consistent,  under 
all  proofs  and  trials,  until  death  ;  and  when  the  eyes  of  the 
departed  are  closed,  his  memory  is  enshrined  in  the  remem- 
brance of  the  survivor.  Thank  God !  I  have  seen,  I  have 
felt,  that  there  are  such  friendships  ;  and  if  there  is  anything 
honorable,  dignified  and  attractive  in  aught,  that  earth  pre- 
sents, it  is  the  sight  of  two  friends,  whose  attachment  dates 
from  their  first  remembered  sentiment ;  and  has  survived  dif- 
ference of  opinion  and  interest,  the  changes  of  distance, 
22 


254 


time  and  disease,  and  those  weaning  influences,  which,  while 
they  crumble  the  most  durable  monuments,  convert  most  hearts 
to  stone. 

Note  38,  page  129. 

I  have  long  been  in  the  habit  of  measuring  the  character, 
mental  power  and  prospects  of  the  young,  who  are  brought 
by  circumstances  under  my  observation,  by  the  power  which 
they  evince,  to  resist  the  suggestion  of  the  senses.  In  the 
same  proportion,  as  I  see  them  capable  of  rising  above  the 
thraldom  of  their  appetites,  capable  of  that  energy  of  will, 
that  gives  the  intellectual  control  over  the  animal  nature,  I 
graduate^them  higher  in  the  scale  of  moral  power  and  prospect. 
But  if,  in  their  course,  they  manifest  the  clear  preponderance 
of  the  animal ;  if  sloth,  sensuality,  and  the  inclinations,  which 
have  no  higher  origin  than  the  senses,  sway  them  beyond  the 
influence  of  advice  and  moral  suasion,  be  they  ever  so  beauti- 
ful, endowed,  rich,  distinguished,  be  their  place  in  general 
estimation  ever  so  high,  I  put  them  down,  as  belonging  to 
the  animal,  and  not  the  intellectual  orders.  They  can  never 
reach  higher  worth  and  success,  than  that,  which  is  the  blind 
award  of  accident. 

Note  39,  page  131. 

It  seems  to  me,  that  writers  on  taste  have  not  seen  all  the 
importance  of  uniting  physical  with  moral  ideas,  to  give  them 
any  deep  and  permanent  interest.  This  subject  might  be  en- 
larged to  any  extent,  by  carrying  out  the  details,  suggested 
by  the  striking,  just,  but  necessarily  very  brief  views  of 
the  author.  We  have  here  a  clue,  by  which  we  may  explore 
a  whole  universe  of  the  highest  and  purest  pleasures  which 
can  touch  the  heart,  and  which  to  the  greater  portion  of  the 
species  have  no  existence. 

There  are  travellers  more  learned,  and  equally  capable  of 
noting  facts  with  M.  de  Chateaubriand.  They  have  trav- 


255 


ersed  the  same  countries,  seen  the  same  objects,  and  collect- 
ed an  immense  mass  of  facts,  which  they  have  published,  on 
their  return,  to  be  read  by  none,  but  kindred  spirits,  as  dull 
as  themselves.  In  his  record  of  his  travels  in  the  same  coun- 
tries, we  are  beguiled  onward,  under  the  spell  of  a  sustained 
charm.  The  imagination  is  constantly  in  action  ;  the  heart 
swells ;  images  of  grandeur  and  beauty,  remembrances  of 
pathos  and  power  are  evoked  from  every  side,  and  the  shad- 
ows of  the  past  throng  round  us.  Why  is  it  so?  The  former 
see  brute  nature,  in  its  lifeless  and  motionless  materiality? 
divorced  from  mind  and  memory.  The  latter  not  only  sees 
that  universe  with  a  radiant  eye,  but  holds  converse  with  a 
superincumbent  universe,  as  much  more  vast,  beautiful,  touch- 
ing, diversified,  than  the  other,  as  mind  is  superior  to  matter. 
It  is  this  creation  of  thoughts,  remembrances,  poetry,  and  af- 
fecting images,  in  his  mind,  intimately  connected  with  the 
other,  and  overshadowing  it,  like  an  illumined  stratum  over  a 
region  covered  with  palpable  mist,  by  virtue  of  which  he 
makes  nature  eloquent.  This  is  the  charm  spread  over  all 
the  beautiful  passages  that  abound  in  his  writings ;  a  peculiar 
aptitude  to  associate  nature,  in  every  position  and  form,  with 
the  universe  of  thought  within  him.  Such  is  the  endowment 
of  all  poets,  orators,  and  painters,  that  have  produced  efforts 
worthy  of  immortality.  Common  writers  see  nature  dead,  si- 
lent, sterile  —  mere  brute  and  voiceless  matter.  Endowed 
minds  kindle  it  into  speech,  beauty  and  grandeur  ;  interpret- 
ing it  by  the  internal  world  in  their  own  minds. 

Note  39.  page  134. 

These  illustrations  of  the  importance  of  uniting  moral  with 
physical  ideas,  in  regard  to  vision,  landscape,  painting  and 
music,  are  as  true,  as  they  are  eloquent  and  striking.  Who 
has  not  had  the  vivid  remembrance  of  home  recalled  in  a  dis- 
tant land,  by  a  tree,  a  feature  in  the  landscape,  a  blue  hill 
in  the  distance  !  How  readily  the  shadowy  images  of  memory 
are  evoked !  Every  one  is  aquainted  with  the  touching  circum- 


stance  in  the  character  of  the  Swiss  soldiers  serving  in  foreign 
countries.  Great  numbers  of  them  used  to  serve,  as  stipen- 
daries,  in  the  French  armies.  It  was  forbidden  to  play, 
in  their  presence,  the  air  Ranz  des  vaches.  Home,  sickness 
and  desertion  scarcely  failed  to  ensue  from  hearing  it.  The 
wild  and  plaintive  air  reminded  them  of  '  Sweet  home,'  their 
mountains,  their  simple  pleasures,  and  the  range  and  lowing 
of  their  kine.  The  beautiful  Scotch  airs  derive  their  charm 
from  their  association  with  mountain  scenery,  and  the  peculiar 
history  and  manners  of  a  highly  sensitive,  intelligent  and 
national  people.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  unrivalled 
Erin  go  Bragh,  in  relation  to  the  Irish  ;  in  a  word  of  the  na- 
tional music  of  every  people.  Associate  any  idea  with  sen- 
timent and  the  heart,  and  it  becomes  touching,  and  sublime, 
and  capable  of  stirring  the  deepest  fountains  of  feeling, 
according  to  the  remembrance  with  which  it  is  allied. 

Note  40,  page  136. 

I  have  heard  persons,  endowed  with  keen  feelings,  re- 
piningly  contrast  the  miseries  which  they  endured  from 
an  excess  of  irritable  and  unregulated  sensibility,  with  the 
apparently  joyous  apathy  of  fat  and  fortunate  burghers,  who 
seem  to  find  no  sorrows  and  no  troubles  in  life,  and  who 
hear  with  incredulity  and,  in  fact,  with  an  entire  want  of  com- 
prehension, about  sufferings  resulting  from  witnessing  misery? 
which  we  have  no  means  of  relieving,  and  the  sorrows,  from 
innumerable  sources,  to  which  those  of  a  keenly  sensitive  na- 
ture are  subject.  I  have  never  seen  these  contrasts  of  char- 
acter in  this  light.  I  unhesitatingly  believe  that  a  righteous 
Providence  has  exactly  and  admirably  adjusted  the  weights 
in  either  scale.  The  great  mass,  who  are  not  disturbed  with 
excess  of  feeling,  are,  from  the  same  temperament,  inter- 
dicted from  a  whole  universe  of  enjoyments,  into  which 
those,  who  possess  sensibility,  and  regulate  it  aright,  have 
free  access. 


257 


Note  41,  page  137. 

Man  seems  to  contain,  according  as  he  is  contemplated 
in  different  lights,  inexplicable  contradictions  of  character ; 
and  to  be  at  one  time  all  tenderness  of  heart ;  and  at  another 
an  odious  compound  of  insensibility  and  cruelty  ;  according  to 
the  circumstances  with  which  he  is  surrounded,  and  the  po- 
sitions in  which  he  is  placed.  Who  could  believe,  that  it 
was  the  same  being,  that  now  dissolves  into  tears  at  the  re- 
hearsal of  a  tragedy,  on  reading  a  romance  or  witnessing  a 
spectacle  of  misery,  and  now  hurries  from  these  emotions  to 
see  a  bull-fight ;  and  in  passing  to  the  show,  encourages  two 
bullies  in  the  street  to  forma  ring,  to  bruise  each  other! 
Who  would  believe,  that  it  has  always  been  considered  an 
attribute  in  the  more  susceptible  sex,  to  regard  duellists  with 
a  partial  eye  ;  to  give  a  secret  place  in  their  kind  feelings  to 
those  who  are  reckless  of  their  own  and  another's  blood ;  and 
more  than  all  to  look  propitiously  on  soldiers  encrimsoned 
with  the  fresh  stains  of  the  battle  field  ?  Nay,  more,  who 
reads  without  astonishment,  and  almost  without  unbelief,  that 
a  whole  people,  in  the  days  of  the  pagan  Roman  emperors, 
days  of  the  utmost  luxury  of  taste  and  refinement,  days,  in 
which,  in  all  probability,  traits  of  kindness,  generosity  and 
magnanimity  were  no  more  uncommon  than  now,  the  ladies 
of  the  greatest  and  most  splendid  city  in  the  world  thronged 
with  an  irrepressible  curiosity,  and  an  intense  desire,  to  see 
naked  gladiators  lacerate,  and  stab  each  other,  and  old 
and  feeble  men  torn  in  pieces  by  lions  and  wild  beasts, 
when  merely  a  movement  of  a  finger  would  save  them  ! 

The  ministers  of  the  gospel,  who  attribute  the  abhorrence, 
which  the  same  spectacles  would  excite  in  the  population  of 
a  Christian  city,  to  the  humanizing  influences  of  our  faith, 
forget  that  such  a  city  has  seen,  times  without  number,  its 
inhabitants  pouring  forth  from  its  gates,  to  witness  miserable 
victims  burnt  to  death  at  an  auto  dafe,  and  shouting  with  joy 
at  the  spectacle. 

Protestant  ministers  exult,  in  contrasting  the   influences  of 
22* 


258 


the  reformed  faith  with  results  like  these  ;  and  yet  witness 
their  congregations  thronging  in  crowds  to  see  a  wretched 
criminal  swinging  in  the  agonies  of  strangulation.  The 
same  people  thrill  with  horror,  as  they  hear,  around  their 
evening  fire,  how  those  whom  they  call  savages,  dance,  and 
yell  round  the  stake,  at  which  a  captive  enemy  is  burn- 
ing. To  the  red  man  it  seems  the  extreme  of  cold-blooded 
ferocity,  to  execute  a  criminal  with  a  halter,  by  the  hands 
of  a  person  who  bears  no  ill  will  to  the  victim. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  question  one  of  the  sublime  trophies 
of  the  gospel,  or  to  doubt  its  refining  and  humanizing  influ- 
ences. But  the  whole  aspect  of  history  and  society  com- 
pels me  to  believe,  that  fashion  and  prevalent  opinions  exert 
an  influence,  that  will  bring  men  to  tolerate  almost  anything. 
I  much  fear,  that  the  spectacles  of  the  Roman  Amphitheatre 
might  be  revived,  if  a  certain  number  of  any  community 
would  pertinaciously  conspire,  to  write  in  favor  of  them,  and 
countenance  them  by  their  presence. 

.  Note  42,  page  137. 

To  present,  in  contrast,  the  favorable  side  of  human  contra- 
dictions :  —  T  have  seen  a  man  plunge  into  the  water,  and  put 
his  own  life  at  fearful  jeopardy,  to  rescue  a  stranger  from 
drowning.  1  have  witnessed  instances  of  disinterested  and 
heroic  sacrifice,  which  present  men  in  the  aspect  of  angels, 
in  every  walk  of  life.  Such  sublime  samples  of  the  capability  of 
our  nature  are  the  appropriate  theme  of  oratory,  painting  and 
song  ;  and  cannot  be  too  much  blazoned.  Pity  it  is  that  history 
did  not  select  more  instances,  and  dwell  upon  them  with 
more  partial  eulogy,  instead  of  amplifying  the  revolting  details 
of  war. 

Two  instances  of  aifecting  manifestation  of  tenderness 
are  deeply  impressed  upon  my  memory,  simply  because  they 
were  elicited  by  common  cases  of  suffering ;  and  had  in  them 
nothing  of  romance,  or  of  uncommon  tendency  to  excite 
the  feelings. 


259 


I  Avas  passing  in  the  streets  of  one  of  our  northern  citiea. 
On  the  marble  door  steps  of  a  sumptuous  mansion  sat  a  rag- 
ged boy,  with  a  look  at  once  dogged  and  subdued,  manifest- 
ing long  acquaintance  with  sorrow  and  want.  Near  him  sat 
an  aged  woman,  apparently  his  mother,  decrepit,  worn  and 
squalid,  with  her  face  turned  from  me.  The  boy  was  de- 
vouring with  voracious  greediness  a  piece  of  dried  herring. 
Fair  and  richly  dressed  children  were  passing  to  their  morn- 
ing school.  Most  of  them  jeered  him,  in  passing,  calling 
on  him  to  get  down  from  the  steps,  and  asking  him  if  he  was 
very  hungry  ?  '  Yes,  and  you  would  be  hungry,  and  sad  too, 
if  you  was  poor  and  a  stranger,  and  had  to  take  care  of  an 
old  mother,  and  had  walked  as  far  as  I  have.'  One  of  the 
boys  lingered  behind,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  feelings.  I  noticed 
his  broad,  high  forehead,  and  eye  speaking  a  soul  within. 
His  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  he  handed  the  boy  money.  My 
own  eyes  moistened,  as  I  witnessed  the  angelic  expression  of 
this  noble  boy,  who  I  dare  affirm,  had  not  the  spirit  to  do  such 
things  by  halves. 

The  other  was  in  another  extremity  of  our  country, 
where  money  and  cotton,  sugar  and  slaves,  balls  and 
theatres  are  the  all-absorbing  objects  of  interest.  A  large 
group  of  gaily  dressed  gentlemen  and  ladies  were  promen- 
ading, in  company  with  an  heiress  and  her  intended  husband, 
who  were  shortly  to  be  married,  and  they  were  merely 
discussing  the  preparations.  A  poor,  pale  boy,  apparently  a 
stranger,  came  up  to  them,  with  his  written  petition  for 
charity  ;  and  with  the  low  and  subdued  tone  of  voice  appropri- 
ate to  shame,  bashfulness  and  misery,  began  to  tell  his  little 
story.  The  splendid  laughers  walked  on  with  an  incurious 
carelessness.  One  of  the  group  lingered  behind.  He  was 
struggling  with  the  difficulties  of  obtaining  a  profession,  and 
aiding  in  the  support  of  a  distant  family.  But,  he  bestowed 
on  the  boy  one  of  his  few  remaining  dollars.  When  I  see 
such  instances  of  native  tenderness  of  heart,  I  thank  God 
that  men  are  not  totally  depraved. 


260 


Note  43,  page  138. 

Every  one  who  has  had  extensive  acquaintances,  and  been 
exposed  to  frequent  requests  for  letters  of  recommendation,  and 
to  procure  the  intervention  and  aid  of  opulent  friends,  must 
feel  the  importance  and  justice  of  these  remarks.  We  ought 
not  to  refuse  such  letters  from  indolence,  selfishness,  or  the 
commonly  alleged  fear  of  troubling  our  friends.  But  then, 
the  case  must  be  such,  as  will  bear  us  out,  in  being  meas- 
ured and  scrupulous,  in  regard  to  the  existence,  the  actual 
truth  and  justice,  of  what  we  advance  ;  otherwise  our  inter- 
position will  soon  be  rendered  cheap  and  inefficient ;  and  will 
react,  in  creating  want  of  respect  for  the  writer,  instead  of 
good  feeling  toward  the  person  recommended.  Such,  in  a 
great  measure,  is  the  result,  in  the  current  value  of  these 
letters,  as  they  are  emitted,  according  to  the  common  forms  of 
society. 

Note  44,  page  139. 

A  most  affecting  proof,  that  the  human  heart  is  not  intrin- 
sically bad,  and  that  the  obduracy  and  cold-blooded  selfishness 
of  the  world  is  adventitious,  and  the  result  of  our  modes  and 
our  training,  is,  that  the  sisters  of  charity,  the  truly  bene- 
ficent everywhere,  create  a  deep  sensation  of  respect  in  be- 
holders. Efficient  charity  is  almost  the  only  thing,  that  no 
one  feels  disposed  to  question,  or  slander.  A  corpse  was 
borne  slowly  by  me,  to  the  place  of  its  long  sleep.  An  im- 
mense procession  followed  with  sorrow  and  respect  impress- 
ed upon  their  countenances.  I  asked,  whom  they  were  bury- 
ing. '  A  single  woman  without  wealth  or  connexions.  —  But 
her  life  has  been  marked  by  beneficence.'  If  that  sex,  which 
so  instinctively  desire  to  appear  to  advantage,  knew,  in  what 
light  a  lady,  distinguished  by  fortune  and  cultivation  appears 
while  traversing  the  dirty  and  dark  lanes  of  a  city,  to  seek 
out,  and  relieve  cases  of  misery,  they  would  practise  charity, 
were  it  from  no  higher  motive,  than  to  create  a  sensation, 


261 


and  appear  lovely.  Every  one  knows  the  example  of  the  sub- 
lime, quoted  by  Longinus  from  Moses.  A  passage  in  the 
Gospel  seems  to  me  still  more  sublime.  He  went  about 
doing  good.  All  other  homage,  than  that  which  the  heart 
pays  to  beneficence,  is  adventitious.  This  is  real. 

Note  45,  page  141. 

Of  all  the  pleasures  of  our  earthly  sojourn,  after  those 
of  a  good  conscience,  the  most  varied,  and  yet  equable, 
healthful  and  permanent  are  those  of  reading.  '  I  have  never,' 
says  a  respectable  writer,  '  passed  a  comfortable  day  without 
books  since  I  was  capable  of  reading.'  It  is  certainly  pleas- 
ant, to  be  able  to  converse  with  the  wise  and  instructed  of  all 
countries  and  all  times  without  formality,  without  embarrass- 
ment, and  just  as  long  as  we  choose ;  and  then  dismiss  one  of 
them  without  any  apology,  and  sit  down  with  another.  We 
travel  without  expense  with  them.  We  inhabit  the  tropics,  or 
the  polar  circle,  the  table  summits  of  mountains,  or  the  wide 
plains,  at  our  choice.  We  journey  by  land  or  by  sea.  We 
select  congenial  minds,  and  make  them  converse  with  us 
about  our  congenial  pursuits.  We  throw  away  no  voice. 
We  never  dialogue  in  wrath  ;  and  intelligence  converses  with 
intelligence,  divested  of  terrene  grossness  and  passion.  When 
detained  on  long  journeys,  in  some  remote  interior  tavern,  by 
a  storm,  or  inability  to  find  a  conveyance,  how  keenly,  while 
reading  almanacks  of  the  past  years,  and  old  fragments  of 
books,  found  on  the  dusty  shelf  of  the  ordinary,  have  I  felt 
the  value  of  books,  as  a  perfect  cure  for  the  impatience  of 
such  a  position.  In  this  state  of  privation  and  intellectual 
fasting,  we  master  dull  and  tiresome  books,  which,  under  other 
circumstances,  we  should  not  have  dreamed  of  reading.  Then 
the  mind  is  taught  to  pay  the  proper  homage  to  these  intel- 
'ectual  resources. 

The  pleasures  of  winter  reading,  in  the  sacred  privacy  of 
the  parlor,  are  thus  finely  described  by  Thomson,  the  painter 
of  nature. 


262 

4  There  studious  let  me  sit, 
And  hold  high  converse  with  the  mighty  dead  ; 
Sages  of  ancient  time,  as  gods  revered, 
As  gods  beneficent,  who  bless'd  mankind 
With  arts,  with  arms,  and  humanized  a  world. 
Roused  at  th'  inspiring  thought,  I  throw  aside 
The  long-lived  volume  ;  and,  deep-musing,  hail 
The  sacred  shades,  that  slowly-rising  pass 
Before  my  wondering  eyes.     First  Socrates, 
Who,  firmly  good  in  a  corrupted  state, 
Against  the  rage  of  tyrants  single  stood, 
Invincible  !  calm  Reason's  holy  law, 
That  voice  of  GOD  within  th'  attentive  mind, 
Obeying,  fearless,  or  in  life  or  death : 
Great  moral  teacher  !  Wisest  of  mankind  ! 
Solon  the  next,  who  built  his  commonweal 
On  equity's  wide  base ;  by  tender  laws 
A  lively  people  curbing,  yet  undamped 
Preserving  still  that  quick  peculiar  fire, 
Whence  in  the  laurel'd  field  of  finer  arts, 
And  of  bold  freedom,  they  unequall'd  shone, 
The  pride  of  smiling  Greece  and  human  kind. 
Lycurgus  then,  who  bow'd  beneath  the  force 
Of  strictest  discipline,  severely  wise, 
All  human  passions.     Following  him,  I  see, 
As  at  Thermopylae  he  glorious  fell, 
The  firm  devoted  chief,*  who  proved  by  deeds 
The  hardest  lesson  which  the  other  taught. 
Then  Aristides  lifts  his  honest  front ; 
Spotless  of  heart,  to  whom  th'  unflattering  voice 
Of  freedom  gave  the  noblest  name  of  Just ; 
In  pure  majestic  poverty  revered  ; 
Who,  e'en  his  glory  to  his  country's  weal 
Submitting,  swell'd  a  haughty  rival's  t  fame. 
Rear'd  by  his  care,  of  softer  ray  appears 
Cimon  sweet-soul'd  ;  whose  genius,  rising  strong, 
Shook  off  the  load  of  young  debauch  ;  abroad 
The  scourge  of  Persian  pride,  at  home  the  friend 
Of  every  worth  and  every  splendid  art ; 

*  Leonidas.        f  Themistocles. 


263 

i 

Modest  and  simple,  in  the  pomp  of  wealth. 
Then  the  last  worthies  of  declining  Greece, 
Late  call'd  to  glory,  in  unequal  times 
Pensive  appear.     The  fair  Corinthian  boast, 
Timoleon,  happy  temper!  mild  and  firm, 
Who  wept  the  brother  while  the  tyrant  bled. 
And,  equal  to  the  best,  the  Theban  Pair,* 
Whose  virtues,  in  heroic  concord  join'd, 
Their  country  raised  to  freedom,  empire,  fame. 
He  too,  with  whom   Athenian  honor  sunk, 
And  left  a  mass  of  sordid  lees  behind, 
Phocion  the  Good  ;  in  public  life  severe, 
To  virtue  still  inexorably  firm  ; 
But  when,  beneath  his  low  illustrious  roof, 
Sweet  peace  and  happy  wisdom  smooth'd  his  brow, 
Not  friendship  softer  was,  nor  love  more  kind. 
And  he,  the  last  of  old  Lycurgus'  sons, 
The  generous  victim  to  that  vain  attempt, 
To  save  a  rotten  state,  Agis,  who  saw 
E'en  Sparta's  self  to  servile  avarice  sunk. 
The  two  Achaian  heroes  close  the  train  : 
Aratus,  who  a  while  relumed  the  soul 
Of  fondly  lingering  liberty  in  Greece  ; 
And  he,  her  darling  as  her  latest  hope, 
The  gallant  Philopcemen  ;    who  to  arms 
Turn'd  the  luxurious  pomp  he  could  not  cure  ; 
Or  toiling  on  his  farm,  a  simple  swain; 
Or,  bold  and  skilful,  thundering  in  the  field. 
'  Of  rougher  front,  a  mighty  people  comes  ! 
A  race  of  heroes  !  in  those  virtuous  times 
Which  knew  no  stain,  save  that  with  partial  flame 
Their  dearest  country  they  too  fondly  loved : 
Her  better  Founder  first,  the  light  of  Rome, 
Numa,  who  soften'd  her  rapacious  sons  ; 
Serviu*  the  king,  who  laid  the  solid  base 
On  which  o'er  earth  the  vast  republic  spread. 
Then  the  great  consuls  venerable  rise. 
The  public  Father  t  who  the  private  quell'd, 
As  on  the  dread  tribunal  sternly  sat. 

Pelopidas  and  Epaminondas.     t  Marcus  Junius  Brutus. 


264 

He  whom  his  thankless  country  could  not  lose, 
Camillus,  .only  vengeful  to  her  foes. 
Fabricius,  scorner  of  all-conquering  gold  ; 
And  Cincinnatus,  awful  from  the  plough. 
Thy  willing  victim,*  Carthage,  bursting  loose 
From  all  that  pleading  Nature  could  oppose, 
From  a  whole  city's  tears,  by  rigid  faith 
Imperious  call'd,  and  honor's  dire  command. 
Scipio,  the  gentle  chief,  humanely  brave, 
Who  soon  the  race  of  spotless  glory  ran, 
And,  warm  in  youth,  to  the  poetic  shade 
With  Friendship  and  Philosophy  retired. 
Tully,  whose  powerful  eloquence  a  while 
Restrain'd  the  rapid  fate  of  rushing  Rome. 
Unconquer'd  Cato,  virtuous  in  extreme  ; 
And  thou,  unhappy  Brutus,  kind  cf  heart, 
Whose  steady  arm,  by  awful  virtue  urged, 
Lifted  the  Roman  steel  against  thy  friend. 
Thousands  besides  the  tribute  of  a  verse 
Demand ;  but  who  can  count  the  stars  of  heaven  ? 
Who  sing  their  influence  on  this  lower  world  ? 
'  Behold,  who  yonder  comes  !  in  sober  state, 
Fair,  mild,  and  strong,  as  is  a  vernal  sun  5 
'Tis  Phoebus'  self,  or  else  the  Mantuan  swain  ! 
Great  Homer  too  appears,  of  daring  wing, 
Parent  of  song !  and,  equal  by  his  side, 
The  British  Muse  ;  join'dhand  in  hand  they  walk, 
Darkling,  full  up  the  middle  steep  to  fame, 
Nor  absent  are  those  shades,  whose  skilful  touch 
Pathetic  drew  th'  impassion'd  heart,  and  charm'd 
Transported  Athens  with  the  moral  scene  ; 
Nor  those  who,  tuneful,  waked  th'  enchanted  lyre. 

'  First  of  your  kind  !  society  divine ! 
Still  visit  thus  my  nights,  for  you  reserved, 
And  mount  my  soaring  soul  to  thoughts  like  your?. 
Silence,  thou  lonely  power  !  the  door  be  thine  ; 
See  on  the  hallow'd  hour  that  none  intrude, 
Save  a  few  chosen  friends,  who  sometimes  deign 
To  bless  my  humble  roof,  with  sense  refined, 
Learning  digested  well,  exalted  faith, 
Unstudied  wit,  and  humor  ever  gay. 

*  Regulus. 


265 

Or  from  the  Muses'  hill  will  Pope  descend, 
To  raise  the  sacred  hour,  to  bid  it  smile, 
An'l  with  the  social  spirit  warm  the  heart? 
For  though  not  sweeter  his  own  Homer  sings, 
Yet  is  his  life  the  more  endearing  song. 

Note  46,  page  142. 

Whoever  has  attempted  to  concentrate  his  thoughts  in  fix- 
ed contemplation  upon  the  origin  of  the  human  race,  the  ob- 
ject of  our  present  existence,  and  our  prospects  beyond  it, 
upon  the  character  and  plan  of  the  divinity,  and  the 
mode  of  his  being,  must  have  felt  a  painful  vagueness,  a  diz- 
zying sense  of  the  weakness  of  our  powers,  very  nat- 
urally preparing  us  for  superstitious  and  terrific  views  of 
the  first  cause.  But  when,  in  the  clear  light  of  reason,  I 
look  upon  his  creation,  on  his  star-spangled  firmament,  and 
the  glory  of  his  works,  I  should  as  soon  doubt  my  own  exist- 
ence, as  the  perfect  wisdom  and  goodness  of  the  author  of 
my  being.  All  religion,  which  does  not  strengthen  our  con- 
fidence in  this,  must  be  a  dreary  illusion.  Horrible  dreams, 
dating  their  origin  from  the  associations  of  childhood,  and  the 
rant  of  wild  and  visionary  ministers,  may  sometimes  interpose, 
in  the  uncertain  moments  between  sleeping  and  waking,  as 
among  the  gloomy  presentiments  and  partial  delirium  of  ill 
health.  But  every  rational  mind  must  finally  settle  to  repose 
in  that  glorious  persuasion,  which  instantly  irradiates  the  mor- 
al universe  with  perennial  sunshine.  '  The  Lord  reigneth ;  let 
the  earth  rejoice.'  In  this  or  any  other  world,  in  our  present 
or  any  other  forms  of  conscious  being,  we  may  advance  upon 
the  unexplored  scenes  with  a  full  confidence  that  we  can  nev- 
er travel  beyond  the  .beneficence  and  equity  of  the  infinite 
mind. 

One  of  the  standing  themes  of  Christian  pulpits  is  the 
puerile  and  absurd  views,  which  the  common  creed  of  the 
Greeks  and  Romans  presented  of  the  rabble  divinities  of  their 
Pantheon  ;  deities,  who  fought,  intrigued,  made  love,  and  in- 
toxicated themselves ;  deities,  who  had  great  power  in  a 
23 


266 


valley,  and  none  on  the  adjoining  hills ;  deities,  who  were 
conquered,  and  transferred  with  their  territory,  and  became  in 
consequence  subservient  to  their  conquerors.  I  have  heard 
discussions  of  this  kind  in  the  discourse  of  the  sabbath  morn- 
ing: and,  in  that  of  the  evening,  views  of  Christian  theology, 
scarcely  less  narrow  and  unworthy  of  the  Supreme  Being.  I 
am  compelled  to  believe,  from  reading  and  observation,  that 
the  mass  of  the  people,  in  all  churches,  have  had  no  oth- 
er conception  of  the  divinity,  than  that  of  a  being  molded 
much  like  themselves.  We  cannot  avoid  discovering,  that 
their  ideas  of  a  God  are  gross,  material,  local,  partial ;  that  they 
behold  him,  as  the  God  of  their  place,  party  and  passions. 
Converse  with  the  fiercer  sects,  and  you  perceive,  that  their 
views  immediately  become  vague,  as  soon  as  they  contemplate 
the  Almighty  occupied  with  concerns  beyond  their  sect  It 
seems  beyond  their  thoughts,  to  realize,  that  their  denomin- 
ation bears  to  the  species  little  more  than  the  proportion  of  a 
drop  to  the  ocean  :  and  that  the  Supreme  Being  cannot  be 
rationally  supposed  more  concerned  about  them,  than  any  other 
equal  number  of  his  children. 

Nothing  can  be  more  philosophical,  or  consoling,  than  the 
Scripture  views  of  what  has  been  called  a.  particular  provi- 
dence. But,  as  we  hear  it  generally  expounded  from  the  press, 
the  pulpit,  and  in  common  conversation,  it  offers  views  of  the 
divine  Being  and  government,  scarcely  less  weak,  monstrous 
and  unworthy,  than  those  entertained  by  the  ancient  pagans. 
What  a  conception,  to  suppose  that  a  perfect  law,  as  wise  and 
equitable  in  its  general  operation,  as  infinite  wisdom  and  good- 
ness could  ordain,  could  be  continually  infringed,  to  meet 
countless  millions  of  opposing  prayers  and  interests  !  What 
a  view  of  God,  to  imagine,  that  earnest  and  concurrent 
prayers  can  at  any  time  divert  him  from  his  purpose,  and 
change  his  plans !  What  palpable  misinterpretation  of  the 
Scriptures,  to  suppose,  that  they  give  any  countenance  to  such 
debasing  conceptions  of  God  !  Hear  rigid  sectarians  converse, 
and  you  discover,  that  they  think  little  of  the  divine  provi- 
dence, which  has  no  reference  to  their  individual  interests  and 


267 


concerns.  From  the  tone  of  their  conversations,  it  is  but  too 
manifest,  that  they  have  an  interior  confidence,  that  they  can 
obtain  of  the  divine  power,  almost  what  they  will. 

The  testimony  of  church  history  and  the  experience  of  time 
testify,  that  the  million,  under  all  degrees  of  light,  shrink  from 
the  difficult  and  philosophical  idea  of  the  real  Jehovah  of  the 
Bible ;  and  form,  instead,  the  easy  and  natural  image  of  a 
limited,  partial,  changeable  God,  whom  importunity  can  easily 
induce  to  swerve  from  his  purpose  ;  and  who  is,  in  many  res- 
pects, such  a  being  as  themselves.  It  is  the  embodied  con- 
ception of  their  own  narrow  views,  assigned  to  a  local  habit- 
ation. To  him  the  countless  millions  of  other  lands,  and 
other  forms  of  worship,  are  not,  like  them,  as  children.  Unable 
to  rise  to  the  Supreme  Being,  they  have  brought  Him  down 
to  them. 

A  few  minds,  from  age  to  age,  elevated  by  endowment  and 
circumstances  far  above  their  cotemporaries,  have  not  only 
embraced,  in  common  with  others,  the  easy  and  simple  sen- 
timents of  Him,  which  the  heart  entertains,  but  have  raised 
their  contemplations  so  high,  as  to  behold  Him  in  the  light  of 
truth  —  have  seen  Him,  in  some  sense,  as  He  is  —  have  been 
filled  with  awe  and  confidence,  in  the  view  of  his  immuta- 
bility, and  with  filial  and  cheerful  resignation,  in  seeing  in  the 
universe,  its  order,  mutations  and  variety,  in  the  mixed  con- 
dition of  man,  in  a  word,  in  every  feature  of  the  natural  and 
and  moral  creation,  as  in  a  mircor,  a  perfect  transcript  of  the 
divine  perfections  —  a  pattern  of  an  archetype  without  a  shade 
of  defect.  Instead  of  bringing  the  Divine  Being  down  to 
them,  they  have  raised  themselves  up  to  Him.  The  veil,  that 
screens  his  glory  from  the  feeble  vision  of  the  multitude,  has 
been  removed.  Being  assured,  that  He  has  made  of  one 
blood  all  nations,  that  dwell  on  the  earth,  they  have  seen  it 
to  be  impossible,  that  He  should  look  upon  one  portion  of  his 
children  with  more  favor  than  on  another.  They  have  seen, 
in  the  superior  light  and  advantages  of  one  part  of  the  spe- 
cies over  another,  not  the  indication,  of  what  is  technically 
called  special  favor,  but  the  natural  result  of  the  operation  of 


268 

his  universal  laws.  They  have  seen,  that  if  the  inhabitants 
of  one  region  are  enabled  to  rise  higher  in  the  intellectual 
scale,  and  pay  him  a  more  spiritual  and  worthy  homage  —  the 
simple  inhabitants  of  distant,  barbarous  ivies  have  an  organi- 
zation admitting  them  to  be  as  happy  as  their  natures  will  ad- 
mit, and  as  full  of  enjoyment  as  their  measure  can  contain. 
If  they  are  unable  to  offer  an  intellectual  worship,  the  ser- 
vice of  their  minds,  their  hearts  are  formed  for  fervent  admi- 
ration and  worship  of  the  thunderer  —  the  being,  who  raises 
fruits  and  flowers,  and  hangs  out  his  bow  on  their  clouds. 
They  see,  in  all  this,  tliat  God,  also,  hath  set  one  thing  over 
against  another. 

Note  47,  page  144.          i 

The  wisdom  of  allowing  any  place  to  the  imagination, 
among  the  faculties  to  be  nurtured,  I  have  often  heard  call- 
ed in  question.  The  extremes  of  opinion  frequently  meet  in 
the  same  point.  The  most  earnest  declaimers  against  the  in- 
dulgence of  the  imagination  are  commonly  found  among  the 
class  of  strict  religionists.  It  is,  at  the  same  time,  a  strong 
and  prominent  trait  in  the  system  of  Mr  Owen  'the  philoso- 
pher of  circumstances,'  and  his  followers,  that  we  ought  to 
eradicate  this  faculty,  if  possible,  or  at  least  suppress  its  ex- 
ercise ;  and  reduce  all  mental  operations  to  the  cultivation  of 
the  reasoning  powers.  For  me,  I  hold,  that  we  are  as  much 
indebted  to  the  author  of  our  being  for  granting  us  this  faculty 
as  any  other.  I  see  nothing  wrong,  or  unphilosophical  in  cul- 
tivating it  to  the  utmost  extent ;  provided  our  imaginings 
would  be  innocent,  if  we  could  render  them  realities  ;  unless 
it  can  be  shown,  that  the  indulgence  of  this  faculty  enervates 
the  mind,  and  unfits  it  for  encountering  the  stern  duties  and 
trials  of  life.  So  far  from  believing  this  to  be  the  natural 
tendency  of  its  allowed  exercise,  my  experience  has  led  me 
to  suppose,  that  persons,  strongly  endowed  with  this  faculty, 
are  most  likely  to  show  energy  for  the  discharge  of  common 
duties  ;  and  constancy  and  cheerfulness  in  encountering  tri- 


269 


als.  Are  the  southern  people  of  Europe,  for  example,  less 
firm  in  conflicting  with  danger  and  sorrow,  or  more  feeble 
and  remiss  in  the  discharge  of  duties,  than  the  northern  nations, 
admitted  to  be  far  less  imaginative  ?  Within  the  range  of  my 
experience,  I  find  those  possessed  of  the  most  vivid  imagina- 
tion, the  most  prompt  to  duty-,  and  the  most  cheerful  in  sor- 
row. The  moody  advocates  of  pure  and  exclusive  reason  lay 
feeling,  one  of  the  strongest  impulses  to  duty,  out  of  the 
question  ;  and  would  extinguish  one  of  the  surest  supports  in 
sorrow,  the  power  of  creating  a  bright  internal  world  for 
ourselves,  when  the  external  world  is  involved  in  unavoidable 
gloom. 

They  who  decry  the  indulgence  of  the  imagination,  must, 
of  course,  object  to  the  endowment  of  poets  and  painters ; 
and  equally  to  the  pleasure  derived  from  reading  poetry,  and 
contemplating  paintings.  The  whole  empire  of  these  kind- 
red studies  is  that  of  the  imagination.  Let  us  try  the  alleged 
puerility  of  indulging  this  faculty.  No  one  will  deny,  that 
it  is  the  highest  wisdom  to  seek  to  be  as  happy,  as  we  inno- 
cently may.  When  a  mental  faculty  is  employed  in  creating 
within  us  a  celestial  world,  peopled  with  nobler  beings,  act- 
ing from  higher  motives,  and  showing  a  happier  existence  ; 
and  in  substituting  the  beautiful  possible  for  the  tame  real  ;  if 
we  find  innocent  happiness  in  this  celestial  castle-building, 
are  we  not  employing  reason,  only  in  a  different  direction  from 
the  common  ?  When  any  one  can  prove  to  me,  that  it  is  puerile, 
to  make  ourselves  happy,  and  from  sources  always  within  our 
own  control,  then  I  will  admit,  that  ideal  pleasures  are  unwor- 
thy of  a  reasonable  being.  Prove  only,  that  the  indulgence  of 
the  faculty  enervates  the  mind,  and  indisposes  it  for  duty  and 
constancy  in  suffering,  and  I  will  grant  at  once,  that  it  should 
be  stifled,  or  its  action  restricted  or  suppressed.  So  far  from 
believing  this  to  be  the  fact,  I  would  counsel  him,  whom  I 
most  love,  to  seek  in  her  whom  he  would  select  for  his  wife, 
a  cheerful  and  active  imagination.  It  is  an  egregious  mistake, 
that  mathematicians  and  practical  men  have  generally  been 
found  destitute  of  a  good  development  of  this  faculty.  Con- 
23* 


270 


trary  to  the  vulgar  and  hackneyed  theme  of  pulpit  declama- 
tion, I  have  found  on  examination,  that  some  of  the  most  en- 
ergetically charitable  women,  I  have  ever  known,  were  veter- 
an novel  readers ;  as  have  also  been  some  of  the  most  profound 
lawyers  that  have  ever  adorned  the  judgment  seat  in  our 
country. 

Note  48,  page  145. 

It  is  not  exactly  true,  that  this  faculty  can  be  subjected  to 
the  complete  control  of  the  will.  I  know  of  no  point  in  me- 
taphysics, connected,  also,  with  an  important  question  in  rheto- 
ric, upon  which  less  light  has  been  thrown,  than  the  question, 
how  far,  and  in  what  way  the  imagination  can  be  cultivated: 
and  by  what  methods  brought  under  the  control  of  the  will. 
A  system  of  useful  and  practical  rules  for  this  result  is,  as 
far  as  my  reading  extends,  a  desideratum.  Dr  Johnson,  it  is 
well  known,  believed,  that  a  man's  muse  was  sua  dextra,  his 
own  will,  industry  and  habits,  and  that  by  a  vigorous  effort 
over  himself,  he  could  write,  for  example,  at  any  time.  This 
may  be  true  in  efforts,  in  which  imagination  is  not  required  ; 
but,  where  the  vivid  exercise  of  this  faculty  is  requisite  to  ex- 
cellence, it  is  not  true.  Let  the  most  amply  endowed  poet 
suffer  under  mental  depression,  dyspepsia,  a  concurrence  of 
small  misfortunes  and  petty  vexations.  Let  him  write  in  a 
smoky  apartment,  and  look  abroad  upon  a  leaden  sky,  marked 
with  the  dulness  of  winter,  without  its  storms  and  congenial 
horrors.  He  may  repair  to  his  rules.  He  may  apply  the 
whip  and  spur,  and  invoke  the  nimble  fancies  from  the 
vasty  deep,  and  the  muses  from  their  hill,  but  they  will  not 
answer,  nor  come  at  his  bidding. 

The  imagination  may  be  cultivated  to  a  certain  extent ;  and 
brought  by  rules  and  intense  concentration  of  mind,  in  a  cer- 
tain degree,  under  the  control  of  the  will.  Those,  who  would 
nurture  it,  ought  intensely  to  study  those  rules.  But,  after  all, 
to  be  able  to  exercise  it  in  high  measures  of  vivacity,  is  an  en- 
dowment, in  the  bestowment  of  which  nature  has  been  more 


271 


capricious  than  in  almost  any  other.  Even  when  possessed  in 
copious  measures,  its  province  lies  so  intermediate  between  cor- 
poreal and  mental  influence,  between  the  prevalent  tempera- 
ment of  the  period  of  its  action,  and  the  concurrence  of  exter- 
nal circumstances  beyond  our  control,  that  we  can  easily  see, 
why  the  wise  ancients,  who  thought  more  justly  upon  these 
subjects,  and  more  profoundly  than  the  moderns  seem  to  be  will- 
ing to  apprehend,  attributed  the  successful  efforts  of  the  muses 
to  a  superior  and  celestial  influence.  He,  who  pushes  the 
theory  of  our  control  over  this  faculty  beyond  truth,  adopts 
an  error,  nearly  if  not  quite  as  dangerous,  as  he,  who  holds, 
that  we  have  no  control  over  it  at  all. 

A  thousand  external  circumstances,  which  it  would  require 
a  volume  to  enumerate,  must  concur  with  a  certain  easy  and 
strong  excitability  in  the  physical  and  mental  frame  ;  and  that 
excitability  called  into  action  by  the  right  sort  of  stimulants,  to 
impart  happy  and  vigorous  action  to  the  imagination.     Milton 
affirmed,  that  his  muse  was  most  propitious  in  the  spring.    As 
far  as  I  can  judge,  the   season  of  reproduction,  and  the  awa- 
kening of  the  slumbering  powers  of  nature,  in  the  aroma  and 
brilliancy  of  vegetation  and  flowers,  acts  too  voluptuously  on 
the  senses,  to  give  the  highest  and  best  direction  to  the  imagi- 
nation.    The  Indian  summer  days  of  autumn,  with  the  asso- 
ciated repose  of  nature,  the  broad  and  crimson  disk  of  the 
sun  enthroned  in  the  dome  of  a  misty  sky,  the   clouds  sleep- 
ing in  the  firmament,  the  gorgeous  coloring  of  the  forests,  the 
flashing  fall  of  the  first  leaves,   and  the  not   unpleasing  sad- 
ness of  the  images,  called  up  by  the   imperceptible  decay  of 
nature,  and  the  stealthy  approach  of  winter,  seem  to  me  most 
favorable  to  heavenly  musing.     A  cloudless  morning,  a  beauti- 
ful sun,  the  glittering  brightness  of  the  dew  drops,  the  renovat- 
ed freshness  of  nature,   morning   sounds,  the   mists   rolling 
away  from  the   path  of  the  sun,  a  bland  southwest  breeze, 
good  health,  self-satisfaction,   the   recent  reception  of  good 
news,  and  the  right  train   of  circumstances  all  concur  to  put 
this  faculty  into  its  happiest  action. 
Every  one  is   acquainted  with  the   unsparing  ridicule  be- 


272 


stowed  on  Bayes,  in  Buckingham's  Rehearsal,  for  announcing, 
that  he  always  took  physic,  before  he  wrote.  Yet  the  dull 
coxcomb  had  reason  and  truth  on  his  side.  Mental  action  is 
more  dependent  upon  corporeal,  and  the  ethereal  powers  upon 
the  right  disposition  of  that  organized  clod,  the  body,  than 
most  are  willing  to  acknowledge.  Who  has  not  felt,  when 
first  going  abroad  from  severe  sickness,  the  new  aspects  of  na- 
ture, a  fullness  of  heart,  and  the  crowding  of  innumerable 
images  upon  the  thoughts,  which  have  no  place  in  the  mind, 
after  a  turtle  feast  or  a  full  dinner  ?  When  the  digestive  pow- 
ers are  oppressed  with  morbid  accumulation,  the  wheels  of 
mental  movement,  as  every  one  knows,  move  heavily.  Stu- 
dents, orators,  painters,  poets,  imaginative  men  must  live  as 
near  famine  as  may  be,  and  the  most  useful  stimulants  are 
coifee  and  tea.  Every  one  has  read,  that  Byron's  inspiration 
was  gin.  It  may  be,  that  the  detestible  combination  of  tere- 
binthine  and  alcoholic  excitement  may  have  aroused  from  the 
mouldy  and  terrene  dormitories  of  his  brain  the  images  of  Don 
Juan,  and  the  obscene,  irreligious,  antisocial,  and  fierce 
thoughts,  that  abound  in  his  work's.  But  I  would  hardly  be- 
lieve, on  his  own  assertion,  that  he  wrote  the  Prisoners  of  Chil- 
lon  under  such  an  influence.  The  muse  of  alcohol  is  accurs- 
ed ;  and  her  influence  is  too  corroding,  dreggy,  and  adverse 
to  life,  to  originate  ideas  worthy  of  being  handed  down  in 
immortal  verse.  If  these  baleful  aids  were  resorted  to  at  all,  I 
should  consider  opium  a  thousand  times  preferable  to  al- 
cohol. 

I  know,  from  my  own  experience,  that  this  reality  of  actu- 
al and  present  existence  may  be  imparted  to  the  creations  of 
the  imagination,  by  long  habits  of  subjecting  it  to  the  control 
of  the  will.  The  enjoyment,  resulting  from  reality,  may  be 
more  intense,  but  it  is,  also,  more  tumultuous  and  feverish.  I 
know  of  no  happiness,  more  pure,  prolonged  and  tranquil,  more 
like  what  we  may  imagine  to  be  the  bliss  of  higher  intelli- 
gences, than  to  be  able  to  create  this  sunshine  of  the  soul,  this 
fair  and  celestial  world  within  ourselves,  and  make  ourselves 
free  denizens  of  the  country.  From  these  fairy  mansions  la- 


273 


bor,  care  and  want  are  excluded.  The  obstacles  and  impedi- 
ments of  time,  distance,  and  disease,  both  of  body  and  mind, 
are  excluded.  The  inhabitants,  walking  in  the  light  of  truth 
and  the  radiance  of  immortal  beauty,  from  sin  and  death  for- 
ever free,  unite  the  wisdom  of  angels  to  the  simplicity  and 
affectionate  confidence  of  children. 

Note  50,  page  146. 

No  people,  in  my  estimation,  are  farther  from  true  wisdom, 
than  they,  who  denounce  these  pleasures  of  the  imagination, 
as  the  puerile  follies  of  weak  minds.  They  who  are  most 
prompt  to  bring  the  charge,  are  generally  destitute  of  the 
faculty,  and  its  kindred  endowments  themselves  ;  and  seem 
to  desire  that  other  minds  should  be  reduced  to  their  own 
scale  of  sterility.  Puerile,  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  power  of 
rendering  ourselves  innocently  happy  !  To  me  the  puerility 
belongs  to  those  who  mostly  abstain  from  contemplating  the 
few  gleams  of  sunshine,  that  we  can  behold  between  the  cra- 
dle and  the  grave.  '  But  these  joys  are  unreal ! '  What  is 
there  in  the  vain  show  of  life,  that  is  not  so  ?  See  the  greedy 
scramble  of  ambition,  after  honor,  wealth  and  distinction,  the 
painted  baubles  of  insects,  who  hold  all  by  the  frail  tenure  of 
life!  Life  itself,  what  is  it,  but  a  dream,  some  times  illumin- 
ed by  the  rainbows  of  imagination  and  hope  ? 

Note  51,  page  149. 

A  being  endowed  with  such  intense  emotions,  as  man  ;  and 
so  placed,  as  to  have  them  so  strongly  called  forth  by  the  re- 
lations he  contracts  :  so  much  in  the  dark  in  regard  to  his  ori- 
gin, his  end  and  everything  about  him,  conscious,  that  he 
must  shortly  leave  home,  all  that  he  loves,  the  view  of  the 
earth  and  the  sky,  and  that  body,  which  long  habit  has  taught 
him  to  consider  as  himself,  to  molder  back  to  the  soil,  should 
naturally  be  expected  to  have  this  tendency  to  melancholy. 
Beautifully  said  the  fabulist,  '  that  he  who  formed  us,  moisten- 
ed the  clay  of  our  structure  not  with  water  but  tears.'  The 
natural  expression  of  the  human  countenance  in  sleep  is 


274 


shaded  with  a  slight  veil  of  melancholy.  It  has  been  observed, 
that  the  national  music  of  all  people,  and,  more  especially,  of 
the  uncivilized  tribes,  is  on  a  key  of  melancholy.  Most  of 
the  voices  of  the  animal  tribes  are  of  this  cast.  The  strain  of 
the  nightingale  is  the  deepest  expression  of  this  sentiment- 
Religion  should  be  the  grand  re-agent,  in  bringing  light  and 
cheerfulness  to  a  universe  of  sadness  and  death,  by  present- 
ing new  views  of  that  universe,  its  author,  his  beneficence, 
and  the  ultimate  hope  of  the  soul. 

*  See  truth,  love  and  mercy  in  triumph  descending, 
And  nature  all  glowing  in  Eden's  first  bloom  ; 
On  the  cold  cheek  of  death  smiles  and  roses  are  blending, 
And  beauty  immortal  awakes  from  the  tomb. 

Note  52,  page  149. 

With  the  honorable  exception  of  some  towns  and  districts  in 
our  country,  the  epitaphs  and  monumental  inscriptions  are 
utterly  beneath  criticism.  The  greater  portion  are  from 
Watts,  and  the  other  minor  poets,  too  often  little  more  than  ex- 
travagant, coarse,  miserable  conceits.  Here  and  there,  a  beau- 
tiful quotation  from  the  Bible,  such  as  '  Blessed  are  the  dead, 
who  die  in  the  Lord ; '  '  Man  cometh  forth,  like  a  flower,  and 
is  cut  down,'  only  serve  to  render  the  worthlessness  of  the 
remainder  more  conspicious  by  contrast.  What  adds  to  the 
unpleasant  effect  is,  that  no  inconsiderable  portion  of  them 
are  absolutely  misspelt,  to  say  nothing  of  the  punctuation. 
Strange,  that  survivors  should  incur  the  expense  of  a  slab,  and 
permit  a  stone-cutter  to  select,  spell,  and  point  the  inscriptions. 
It  is  to  be  hoped,  that  some  competent  writer  will,  ere  long, 
take  in  hand  this  matter,  so  vital  to  the  literary  reputation  of 
our  country,  and  introduce  a  thorough  and  general  reform,  by 
wiping  away  this  national  stain,  and  introducing  that  beauti- 
ful and  sublime  simplicity,  which  ought  always  to  characterize 
monumental  inscriptions. 

Akin  to  the  bad  taste  of  this  sort,  is  the  slovenly  manner 
in  which  our  church-yards  are  kept,  in  whole  sections  of  the 
country.  Who  has  not  felt  pain,  at  seeing  many  and  even 


275 


most  of  these  places  sacred  to  memory,  in  the  western  coun- 
ty especially,  uninclosed,  trampled  upon  by  cattle,  and  the 
narrow  heap  of  turf  disturbed  by  swine  ? 

Of  writers,  whose  works  have  been  immortalized  by  the 
muse  of  melancholy,  I  am  acquainted,  in  the  French  language, 
with  Chateaubriand,  who  has  produced  occasional  passages 
of  this  class  not  to  be  surpassed  ;  and  Lamartine,  whose  poe- 
try breathes  a  rich  and  deep  strain  of  melancholy.  Young's 
Night  Thoughts,  Blair's  Grave,  and  Porteus  '  on  Death,'  are 
celebrated  English  specimens  of  this  class  of  poetry.  In  our 
country  the  Thanatopsis  of  Bryant  ranks  quite  as  high  as 
either  of  the  former  writers  in  this  walk.  Some  of  the 
lines  are  of  exquisite  beauty,  as  paintings  of  the  trophies  of 
the  tomb.  Another  age  will  do  justice  to  many  of  the 
thoughts  in  the  Sorotaphion  of  a  young  poet,  who  has  writ- 
ten on  the  remote  shores  of  Red  River. 

The  first  lines  of  the  inscription  on  the  famous  Roman 
statue  of  Sleep  are  the  sublimest  concentration  of  melancholy 
thought : 

'  It  is  better  to  sleep,  than  wake  ;  and  best  of  all  to  be  in 
marble.' 

The  same  may  be  said  of  that  of  the  orphan  nun,  who  died 
in  the  prime  of  youth  and  beauty  :  '  I  was  alone  among  the 
living.  I  am  alone  here.' 

But  it  is  in  the  book  of  Job,  that  poetic  images,  upon  which 
has  been  thrown  the  shade  of  a  sublime  melancholy,  are  set 
forth,  with  a  power  and  pathos  that  leave  little  more,  to  suc- 
ceeding writers  in  that  walk,  than  to  study,  combine,  and  re- 
produce their  features.  How  perfectly  has  this  author  given 
utterance  to  the  groans  of  one  in  utter  despondency  and  be- 
reavement !  Here  the  heart  speaks  its  own  language,  with  a 
simplicity  and  truth  to  make  its  way  to  every  other  heart. 
These  features  fix  the  date  of  this  poem  at  a  period  antecedent 
to  the  settled  art  of  writing,  and  plagiarizing  the  shadow  of  a 
shade,  more  conclusively  than  volumes  of  criticism.  He  copied 
not ;  but  drank  at  the  fountain  ;  feeling  deeply,  and  expressing 
what  he  felt. 


276 


Note  53,  page  150. 

When  in  my  travels  I  pass  through  a  town,  or  village,  which 
I  have  not  seen,  if  I  have  sufficient  leisure,  the  first  place 
which  I  visit,  is  uniformly  the  church-yard.  The  feel- 
ing that  I  am  a  stranger,  that  I  know  not  the  scenery,  and 
that  it  knows  not  me,  naturally  induces  a  sort  of  pensive  med- 
itation, which  disposes  me  for  that  sojourn.  I  form  certain  es_ 
timates  of  the  taste  and  moral  feeling  of  the  people,  from  the 
forms  and  devices  of  the  slabs  and  monuments  ;  and  the  or- 
der in  which  the  consecrated  ground  is  inclosed,  and  kept. 
The  inscriptions  are  ordinarily,  in  too  bad  a  taste  to  claim 
much  interest,  though  there  are  few  church-yards,  that  cannot 
show  some  monuments,  which,  by  their  eccentric  variation 
from  the  rest,  mark  character.  All  this  is  a  matter  of  trifling 
interest,  compared  with  the  throng  of  remembrances  and  an- 
ticipations, that  naturally  crowd  upon  the  spirit  of  a  stranger 
in  such  a  place.  Youth  with  its  rainbows,  and  its  loves  ;  ma- 
ture age  with  its  ambitious  projects  ;  old  age  in  the  midst  of 
children,  death  in  the  natal  spot,  or  the  house  of  the  stranger : 
eternity  with  its  dim  and  illimitable  mysteriousness ;  these 
shadowy  images,  with  their  associated  thoughts,  pass  through 
the  mind,  and  return,  like  the  guests  at  an  inn.  While  I 
look  up  towards  the  rolling  clouds,  and  the  sun  walking  his 
unvarying  path  along  the  firmament,  how  natural  the  reflection, 
that  they  will  present  the  same  aspect,  and  suggest  the  same 
reflections,  that  the  trees  will  stand  forth  in  their  foliage  and 
the  hills  in  their  verdure,  to  him  who  comes  after  rne,  when  I 
shall  have  taken  my  place  with  the  unconscious  sleepers  about 
me  !  I  never  fail  to  recollect  the  charming  reflections  in  a 
number  of  the  Spectator,  that  treats  upon  a  visit  to  Westmin- 
ster Abbey,  the  most  impressive  writing  of  the  kind,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  in  our  language. 

Here  is  the  place  to  reflect  upon  the  folly,  if  not  the  guilt, 
of  human  hatred  and  revenge,  ambition  and  avarice,  and  the 
million  puerile  projects  and  cares,  that  are  incessantly  over- 


277 


clouding  the  sunshine  of  existence.  What  an  eloquent  lesson 
do  these  voiceless  preachers  read,  upon  the  wisdom  of  most  of 
those  thoughts  and  solicitudes,  that  disturb  our  course  through 
life* 

The  heart  cannot  but  be  made  better  by  occasional  commun- 
ion with  these  tenants  of  the  narrow  house,  where  — 
•Each  waits  the  other's  license  to  disturb 
The  deep,  unbroken  silence.' 

Note  53,  page  150. 

It  is  questionable,  how  far  they  could  lay  claim  to  be  the 
real  friends  of  humanity,  who  would  reason  away  this  last, 
best  solace  of  human  wretchedness,  even  were  it  proved  an 
illusion.  But  man  is  just  as  certainly  and  necessarily  a  re- 
ligious being,  as  he  is  a  being  constituted  with  appetites  and 
passions.  Grant,  that  there  are  people,  who  seem  wholly  des- 
titute of  the  religious  sentiment.  Such  are  the  real  Atheists 
from  internal  conviction  ;  for  observe,  there  are  many,  who 
assume  to  be  such,  to  pass  for  free  and  independent  thinkers, 
and  who  are  most  likely,  in  their  dying  moments,  to  require 
absolution  and  extreme  unction.  But  if  there  are  men  thus 
monstrously  constituted,  so  are  there  individuals  apparently 
as  destitute  of  the  common  appetites  and  passions.  We  take 
no  account  of  such  exceptions,  in  indicating  a  general  rule  ; 
and  say,  that  man  is  constituted  a  religious  being,  and  possess- 
ed of  certain  appetites  and  passions  ;  although  there  may  be 
selected  a  few  individuals,  who  seem  entirely  without  either. 

Religion  is  the  key  stone  of  the  arch  of  the  moral  universe. 
It  is  the  fountain  of  endearing  friendship  ;  and  on  it  are  found- 
ed those  sublime  relations,  which  exist  between  the  visible 
and  the  invisible  world ;  those,  who  still  sojourn  here,  and 
those  who  have  become  citizens  of  the  country  beyond  us.  It 
is  the  poesy  of  existence,  the  basis  of  all  high  thought  and 
virtuous  feeling  ;  of  charities  and  morals  ;  and  the  very  tie 
of  social  existence.  Let  no  person  claim  to  be  good,  while 
laying  an  unhallowed  hand  upon  this  ark  of  the  covenant  of 
the  Eternal  with  the  children  of  sorrow  and  death, 
24 


278 


Note  54,  page   154. 

Treatises  upon  the  evidences  of  religion  may  be  useful  for 
theological  students  ;  and  I  have  heard  people  affirm,  that  they 
have  been  rescued  by  such  works  from  the  gloom  of  unbe- 
lief. But,  believing,  as  I  do,  that  we  were  constituted  reli- 
gious animals,  if  such  a  term  may  be  admitted,  and  that  the 
religious  sentiment  is  a  part  of  our  organization,  I  have  quite 
as  much  confidence  in  the  arguments  of  the  heart,  as  of  the 
head.  I  undertake  not  to  pronounce,  whether  M.  de  Chateau- 
briand were  a  good  Christian,  or  not.  But  I  affirm,  that  I  have 
nowhere  seen  my  own  views  of  the  process,  by  which  the 
original  endowment  of  the  religious  sentiment  is  called  into 
action,  so  eloquently  described,  as  in  the  following  extract 
from  that  writer. 

'  My  mother,  after  being  thrown,  at  the  age  of  seventytwo 
years,  into  a  dungeon,  where  she  saw  a  part  of  her  children 
perish,  expired  at  last  upon  a  couch  of  straw,  to  which  her 
miseries  had  consigned  her.  The  remembrance  of  my  errors 
infused  great  bitterness  into  her  last  days.  In  death  she 
charged  one  of  my  sisters  to  recall  me  to  that  religion,  in 
which  I  had  been  reared.  My  sister  transmitted  me  the  last 
wish  of  my  mother.  When  this  letter  reached  me  beyond 
the  seas,  my  sister  herself  was  no  more.  She  had  died  from 
the  consequences  of  her  imprisonment.  These  two  voices, 
proceeding  from  the  tomb,  this  death,  which  served  as  the  in- 
terpreter of  the  dead,  deeply  struck  me.  I  did  not  yield,  I 
admit,  to  great  supernatural  lights.  My  conviction  proceed- 
ed from  the  heart.  I  wept,  and  I  believed.' 

Note  55,  pige  157. 

The  belief  naturally  originated  by  the  sentiment  of  reli- 
gion, or  what  may  be  called  the  faith  of  the  heart,  is  presented 
in  the  last  fruitless  attempt  of  the  old  man,  to  cheer  the  des- 
pair of  Paul  in  the  exquisite  tale  of  Paul  and  Virginia.  '  And 


279 


why  deplore  the  fate  of  Virginia  ?  Virginia  still  exists.  There 
is,  be  assured,  a  region,  in  which  virtue  receives  its  reward. 
Virginia  now  is  happy.  Oh!  if  from  the  abode  of  angels, she 
could  tell  you,  as  she  did,when  she  bade  you  farewell,  "  O  Paul, 
life  is  but  a  trial.  I  was  faithful  to  the  laws  of  nature,  love 
and  virtue.  Heaven  found  I  had  fulfilled  my  duties,  and 
snatched  me  forever  from  all  the  miseries,  T  might  have  en- 
dured myself;  and  all,  I  might  have  felt  for  the  miseries  of 
others.  1  am  placed  above  the  reach  of  all  human  evils,  and 
you  pity  me !  I  am  become  pure  and  unchangeable,  as  a  par- 
ticle of  light,  and  you  would  recall  me  to  the  darkness  of  hu- 
man life.  O  Paul  !  O  my  beloved  friend  !  Recollect  those 
days  of  happiness,  when  in  the  morning  we  felt  the  delightful 
sensations  excited  by  the  unfolding  beauties  of  nature  ;  when 
we  gazed  upon  the  sun,  gilding  the  peaks  of  those  rocks  ; 
and  then  spreading  his  rays  over  the  bosom  of  the  forests. 
How  exquisite  were  our  emotions,  while  we  enjoyed  the  glow- 
ing colors  of  the  opening  day,  the  odors  of  our  shrubs,  the 
concerts  of  our  birds  !  Now  at  the  source  of  beauty,  from 
which  flows  all  that  is  delightful  on  earth,  my  soul  intuitively 
sees,  tastes,  hears,  touches,  what  before  she  could  only  be 
made  sensible  of  through  the  medium  of  our  weak  organs. 
Oh !  what  language  can  describe,  those  shores  of  eternal 
bliss,  which  I  inhabit  forever!  All,  that  infinite  power  and  ce- 
lestial bounty  can  confer,  that  harmony,  which  results  from 
friendship  Avith  numberless  beings,  exulting  in  the  same  fe- 
licity, we  enjoy  in  unmixed  perfection.  Support,  then,  the 
trial  which  is  allotted  you,  that  you  may  heighten  the  happi- 
ness of  your  Virginia,  by  love,  which  will  know  no  termina- 
tion, by  hymeneals,  which  will  be  immortal.  There  I  will 
calm  your  regrets  ;  I  will  wipe  away  your  tears.  Raise  your 
thoughts  towards  infinite  duration,  and  bear  the  evils  of  a 
moment." ' 


280 


JVote  56,  page  ICO. 

Phrenologists  affirm,  that  along  the  centre  of  the  crown  is 
situated  the  organ  of  veneration,  or  religious  sentiment ;  that, 
where  it  is  large,  the  subject  is  strongly  endowed  with  reli- 
gious feeling,  and  the  contrary,  when  it  is  otherwise  ;  that,  with 
eome  few  monstrous  exceptions,  all  possess  this  organ  in  a 
larger  or  smaller  degree  ;  and  that,  as  the  sentiment  spring- 
ing from  the  action  of  this  organ  is  directed  towards  proper 
or  improper  objects,  enlightened  by  reason,  rendered  gloomy 
by  fear,  or  superstitious  by  credulity,  is  the  religious  charac- 
ter of  the  person.  Neither  my  subject,  nor  my  inclination 
calls  upon  me  to  agitate  a  system,  which  has  generally  been 
met  only  with  unsparing  ridicule,  instead  of  manly  argument. 
With  its  doctrines  or  merits  I  intermeddle  not  in  this  place. 
But,  as  far  as  the  system  declares,  that  those  people,  whom 
we  call  pious,  whose  tone  of  mind  seems  to  dispose  them  to 
strong  religious  feeling,  are  so  inclined  from  organization, 
rather  than  volition,  or  argument,  I  most  confidently  believe. 
Morals,  whatever  is  taught  by  the  science  of  ethics,  dogmas, 
ceremonies,  commonly  phrased  religion,  make,  in  my  mind, 
no  part  of  it.  I  consider  religion  to  be  simply  love,  origina- 
ting from  instinctive  impulses  of  veneration  in  the  mind,  for 
whatever  is  powerful,  beneficent,  and  worthy  of  love.  Its 
native  tendency  is  to  expend  its  affection,  first  upon  the  un- 
known and  incomprehensible  power,  from  whom  we  derived 
our  being,  whom  the  heart,  without  argument,  intuitively  per- 
ceives to  be  good.  Its  next  and  associated  tendency  is  phi- 
lanthropy, or  the  love  of  what  bears  the  impress  and  image 
of  God.  If  we  possess  not  this  original  organization,  no  ar- 
gument will  ever  persuade  us  to  be  religious.  If  we  have  it, 
we  may  be  liberal,  or  bigoted,  Christians  or  _  Mahometans,  ear- 
nest or  cold,  according  to  our  proportion  of  endowment,  our 
training  and  circumstances.  We  may  even  adopt  the  flip- 
pant arguments  of  the  unbelieving,  and  enlist  ourselves  un- 
der their  banner.  But  the  original  principle  is  still  within  us, 


281 


uneradicated,  and  uneradicable  ;  and  ready, if  circumstances 
should  favor  the  change,  to  present  us  in  the  form  of  devo- 
tees, or,  as  the  phrase  is,  converted.  The  whole  wisdom  and 
excellence  of  religious  training  consist  in  enlightening  this 
noble  sentiment,  and  giving  it  a  right  direction.  I  am  the 
rather  confirmed  in  these  views,  by  having  remarked,  that  the 
chief,  palpable  and  tangible  influences  of  religion,which  I  have 
witnessed  in  all  the  sects,  that  I  have  had  occasion  to  ob- 
serve, have  seemed  to  me  to  result  from  the  affectionate  spirit 
of  their  worship,  creating  in  them  strong  dispositions  to  love 
one  another. 

Open  the  gospels  and  the  epistles,  and  what  is  the  first  im- 
pression from  perusing  these  unique  and  original  writings, 
so  wholly  unlike  any  other  recorded  compositions,  and  bear- 
ing upon  a  theme  of  such  astonishing  import?  The  simplici- 
ty and  fervor,  with  which  the  spirit  of  love  is  impressed  upon 
the  pages.  The  strong  and  before  unwitnessed  manifesta- 
tion of  this  spirit  was  the  striking  aspect,  which  the  first  Chris- 
tians presented  to  pagan  beholders.  '  See  ! '  said  they,  '  how 
these  Christians  love  one  another.'  Every  time,  I  peruse  the 
writings  of  the  New  Testament,  this  peculiar  badge  of  dis- 
cipleship  seems  more  visibly  impressed  upon  them.  In 
what  other  institution,  but  that  of  Christianity,  was  it  ever 
practicable  to  possess  all  things  in  common  ?  Where  has  been 
the  community,  in  which  no  one  felt  want,  when  a  disciple 
had  wherewith  to  satisfy  it?  In  what  other  chronicles  do  we 
meet  with  such  affecting  and  sublime  examples  of  devotion 
to  each  other,  and  a  constancy  of  affection,  which  showed  it- 
self proof  against  all  other  human  passions,  selfishness,  hope, 
fear,  earthly  love,  and  the  terror  of  death  ?  What  tenderness 
and  singleness  of  heart  in  their  affection  for  each  other  ! 
How  beautifully  they  demonstrate,  that  the  sentiment,  which 
actuated  them,  had  gained  a  complete  triumph  over  all  con- 
siderations, arising  from  objects  below  the  sun  ?  He  on  whose 
bosom  the  loved  disciple  leaned  must  certainly  be  admitted 
to  know  the  peculiar  and  distinguishing  feature  of  his  religion. 
This  feature  stands  forth  embodied  in  all  his  teachings.. 
24* 


282 


anthropy  is  the  predominant  trait  in  the  life  of  him,  who  went 
about  doing  good.  Consider  the  basis  of  religion  to  be  a  sen- 
timent implanted  in  our  constitution,  and  this  result  would 
naturally  be  expected  to  flow  from  its  development. 

True  religion,  consisting  in  an  enlightened  and  affection- 
ate direction  of  the  heart  towards  the  divinity,  and  manifest- 
ing itself  in  love  to  the  human  family,  and  in  consequent  obe- 
dience to  the  universal  and  unchangeable  laws  of  the  Crea- 
tor, can  only  be  expected  to  result  from  the  highest  discipline 
of  the  mind,  and  the  ultimate  exercise  of  the  purest  reason. 
But  the  sentiment,  from  which  this  religion  springs,  in  some 
form  or  other,  as  naturally  impels  the  heart  towards  God,  and 
its  faith  and  aspirations  towards  immortality,  as  fishes  desire 
to  find  their  home  in  the  water,  or  birds  in  the  air  ;  and  as  eve- 
rything, that  has  life,  obeys  the  peculiar  instincts  and  impul- 
ses impressed  by  the  divine  hand.  Why  else,  should  every 
people  under  heaven,  in  all  time,  have  been  found  with  a  re- 
ligion in  some  form,  and  hopes  and  fears  beyond  the  grave  ? 
Consider  religion  in  this  light,  and  its  hopes  are  as  sure,  as 
those  objects,  towards  which  the  instincts  of  all  other  animals 
prompt  them. 

Do  I  undervalue  morals,  since  I  do  not  deem  them  a  part, 
of  what  should  be  properly  called  religion  ?  I  trust,  I  cannot 
be  so  mistaken.  Ethics  may  be  taught,  as  a  science,  and,  how- 
ever important,  seems  to  me  no  more  a  part  of  religion,  than 
mathematics  or  natural  philosophy.  Love  will  create  morals  ; 
and  its  perfection  the  perfection  of  morals,  that  we  ascribe  to 
angels.  All  that  has  been  urged  from  the  pulpit,  in  re- 
gard to  faith  and  works,  as  cause  and  effect,  may,  with  still 
more  justice,  be  applied  to  love  and  duty.  Love  is  the  faith 
of  the  heart,  and  its  original  impress,  when  rightly  trained  in 
the  science  of  ethics,  and  enlightened  by  pure  and  simple  rea- 
son, produces  its  results  in  the  best  exemplification  of  the 
Christian  character. 


283 


Note  57,  page  165. 

That  person  has  no  right  to  complain  of  the  shortness  of 
life,  who  lies  in  bed,  either  sleeping,  or  dozing,  until  nine  ; 
and  thus  voluntarily  consigns  to  unconsciousness  a  twelfth 
part  of  his  existence.  As  little  reason  has  he  for  indulging  a 
querulous  spirit  on  this  score,  if  he  spends  without  object  a 
considerable  portion  of  his  time  with  people,  about  whom  he 
knows  nothing,  except  that  they  are  incapable  of  furnishing 
a  moment's  pleasure,  or  instruction  to  any  one.  If  each  one 
noted  down  at  night  the  incidents  of  the  day,  that  had  occu- 
pied his  time,  and  how  much  of  it  he  had  appropriated  to  each, 
I  fear  all  that  portion,  that  we  call  people  of  leisure  would 
be  able  to  show  but  a  lean  schedule  either  of  utility  or  enjoy- 
ment, as  the  result 

Complaints  of  the  brevity  of  life  are  equally  interdicted  to 
all  those,  who  do  not  wisely  improve  every  hour  of  the  brief 
and  uncertain  present.  He,  who  regretted  his  stinted  fortune, 
would  find,  and  deserve  little  sympathy,  if,  in  the  very  mo- 
ments of  complaining,  he  was  seen  inconsiderately  squander- 
ing from  that  limited  fund.  To  form  a  resolution  to  mark 
every  moment  of  life,  that  we  might,  with  a  succession  of 
pleasant  ideas,  would  probably  triple  the  duration  of  most  hu- 
man lives.  To  sleep  no  more  than  nature  requires,  to  rise 
early,  to  discipline  ourselves  to  preserve  an  elastic  and  active 
spirit  and  a  vigorous  will,  are  parts  of  this  resolution.  It  is 
a  much  greater  part,  than  is  commonly  apprehended,  to  waste 
as  little  time  as  possible  on  those,  who  are  incapable  of  un- 
derstanding us,  and  whom  we  are  as  little  capable  of  under- 
standing. Reciprocal  good  feeling  is  much  more  likely  to  be 
created,  and  sustained  by  those  who  are  determined  to  avoid 
this  course,  than  those  who,  from  mere  unmeaning  civility  and 
common  etiquette,  bring  their  incompatibilities  together,  to 
make  common  stock  of  a  mutual  weariness  with  each  other, 
which  soon  ripens  into  concealed,  if  not  expressed  ill  feel- 
ing. 


284 


They,  who  are  accustomed  to  think  in  this  direction,  will 
easily  fill  out  the  fine  outline  of  the  author's  views  touching  the 
right  mode  to  arrest  the  flight  of  time.  To  add  to  this  sketch 
would  require  an  extent  of  detail,  for  which  I  have  here  no 
place.  The  general  principle  of  this  process  seems  to  con- 
sist in  meeting  pain  and  adversity  with  a  spirit  so  philosophic 
and  firm  that  they  will  recoil  from  it ;  and  to  dwell  upon  every 
innocent  enjoyment,  as  though  it  were  our  first,  and  would  be 
our  last ;  to  prolong  it  by  investing  it  with  all  possible  moral 
relations ;  and  to  discipline  the  mind  never  to  become  hack- 
neyed, sated,  wearied,  and  callous  to  the  sense  of  objects  in 
which  man  is  bound  to  feel  an  interest,  alike  by  his  duty  and 
his  nature. 

Never  was  a  more  stupid  maxim,  than  that  common  one, 
that  nil  admirari  is  the  proper  motto  of  a  philosopher.  To 
preserve  a  freshness,  a  juvenile  sensibility  of  tfie  heart  for 
the  admiration  of  whatever  is  new,  beautiful  and  striking,  for 
all  the  pleasures  of  taste  and  the  understanding,  seems 
to  me  the  true  secret  of  the  highest  wisdom.  Who  can 
fail  to  be  inspired  with  disgust  at  witnessing  the  common  spec- 
tacle of  cognoscenti,  men  of  virtu,  travelled  fools,  who  have 
been  everywhere,  and  seen  everything ;  and  by  the  contemp- 
tuous sneer,  with  which  they  eifect  to  see,  hear,  feel  and  speak 
of  all,  that  passes  under  their  present  observation,  instruct 
you,  that  they  are  too  wise,  and  of  a  taste  too  refined,  to  be 
pleased  with  what  satisfies  untravelled  people.  For  my  part, 
when  I  hear  them  boast  of  the  music,  paintings  and  architect- 
ure of  continental  Europe,  and  England,  as  though  all  the  sour- 
ces of  beauty  were  there,  I  can  only  say,  that  nature  is  always 
at  hand,  to  mock  at  all  the  puny  efforts  of  art ;  that  she  de- 
lights to  mould  living  faces  and  forms  in  remote  country  cot- 
tages, that  no  beau  ideal  can  reach  ;  that  the  songs  of  the  birds, 
tbat  return  from  other  climes  to  their  forsaken  groves  with 
the  first  sunny  days  of  spring  constitute  a  music  richer  to  the 
heart,  than  the  most  fashionable  opera ;  and  that  a  pure  spring 
landscape  is  a  picture 'a  thousand"  times  more  splendid,  than  any 
that  ever  adorned  the  walls  of  the  Louvre.  He,  who  pro- 


285 


serves,  to  his  utmost  age,  his  youthful  sensibility  of  heart,  and 
who  is  willing  to  be  pleased  with  whatever  will  impart  inno- 
cent pleasure,  will  find  innumerable  and  never  failing  occa- 
sions to  give  his  heart  up  to  the  full  impulses  of  joy. 

'  I  pity,'  says  Sterne,  '  the  man,  who  can  travel  from  Dan  to 
Beersheba,  and  cry  'tis  all  barren ;  and  yet  so  it  is  ;  and  so 
is  all  the  world,  to  him  who  will  not  cultivate  the  fruits  it  offers. 
I  declare  said  I,  clapping  my  hands  cheerly  together,  that 
were  I  in  a  desert,  I  would  find  in  it  the  wherewith  to  call 
forth  my  affections.  If  I  could  not  do  better,  I  would  fasten 
them  on  some  sweet  myrtle,  or  seek  some  melancholy  cypress, 
to  connect  myself  to.  I  would  court  its  shade,  and  greet 
it  kindly  for  its  protection ;  I  would  cut  my  name  upon 
it,  and  swear,  it  was  the  loveliest  tree  in  the  desert.  If 
its  leaves  withered,  I  would  teach  myself  to  moom ;  and 
when  they  rejoiced,  I  would  rejoice  with  tltem.' 

Note  58,  page  166. 

I  consider  it  no  unimportant  part  of  the  process  of  prolong- 
ing our  earthly  sojourn,  to  lay  in,  if  I  may  so  speak,  as  great  a 
stock,  as  possible,  of  pleasant  remembrances..  I  appeal  to 
the  experience  of  every  one,  if  the  sudden  recollection  of  a 
foolish  thing  that  we  have  said,  or  done,  returning  upon  us  af- 
ter a  lapse  of  years,  has  not  brought  back  with  the  convulsive 
shudder  of  shame,  a  long  train  of  associated  remembrances, 
which  have  carried  us  back  whole  days  upon  the  scene  ?  How 
long  seem  the  periods,  in  which  these  incidents  occurred ! 
Pleasant  recollections  are  no  less  efficient,  in  prolonging  the 
periods,  in  which  they  occurred,  adding  their  duration  to  the 
sum  of  the  fugitive  existence  that  is  stealing  from  us. 

For  myself  I  can  confidently  affirm,  that  I  have  long  since 
learned  to  find  my  purest  and  most  abiding  satisfactions  in 
the  memory  of  the  past.  I  repeat  all  its  happier  passages  and 
incidents.  I  recall  the  bright  days,  verdant  landscapes,  loved 
persons,  and  joyous  sensations  from  their  shadowy  mansions. 
I  renew  my  youthful  sports  ;  and  watch  for  the  trout  along  the 


286 


flush  spring  brooks.  I  seat  myself  again  on  the  sunny  banks 
of  the  pleasant  spots  of  my  career.  I  would  be  glad  to  con- 
vey some  idea  of  the  vivid  pleasure,  T  experience  after  a  lapse 
of  forty  winters,  from  the  deeply  impressed  remembrance  of 
one  beautiful  spring  morning,  after  a  long  and  severe  win- 
ter, when  I  was  still  a  school-boy.  The  vast  masses  of  snow 
were  beginning  to  melt.  The  birds  of  prey,  shut  up  in  their 
retreats  during  the  bitter  winter,  sailed  forth  in  the  mild  clear 
blue.  The  blue  bird  whistled ;  and  my  heart  expanded  with 
joy  and  delight  unknown,  in  the  same  degree,  before  or  since. 
The  place  where  these  thoughts,  comprising  my  youthful  an- 
ticipations, hopes  and  visions  occurred,  will  never  be  obliterat- 
ed from  my  mind,  while  memory  holds  her  seat.  T  have  a 
thousand  such  treasured  recollections,  with  which  I  can  at  any 
time,  and  to  a  certain  extent,  cheer  pain,  sorrow  and  decay. 
These  are  enjoyments  stored  beyond  the  reach  of  fortune, 
which  we  can  prolong,  and  renew  at  pleasure. 

Is  there  not  practical  wisdom,  in  commencing  every  day 
with  the  steady  effort,  to  make  as  much  of  it,  as  if  it  were  to 
be  our  whole  existence.  If  we  have  duties  to  perform,  in 
themselves  severe  and  laborious,  we  may  inquire,  if  there  be 
not  some  way,  by  which  to  invest  them  with  pleasant  associa- 
tions ?  A  man  may  find  amusement  in  his  free  thoughts,  while 
following  his  plough  upon  the  hill  side  ;  in  digging  up  the  words 
for  a  dictionary,  or  in  copying  out  a  brief.  He  may  train  him- 
self, by  an  inefficient  and  shrinking  spirit,  to  recoil  from  these 
tasks,  as  insupportable  burdens.  How  many  men  find  their 
pleasure,  in  what  would  be  the  positive  horror  and  torment  of 
the  indolent!  How  weak  the  spirit,  and  how  silly  the  vanity 
which  we  display,  in  ever  renewing  narrations  of  our  little  per- 
sonal troubles,  pains  and  misfortunes  !  If  we  would  have  the 
discretion  to  measure  the  sympathy,  which  we  may  expect 
from  others,  in  such  discourses,  by  that,  which  we  are  con- 
scious of  feeling  for  theirs  of  the  same  character,  it  would  go 
far  to  teach  us  the  folly  of  that  querulous  spirit,  which  doles 
forth  the  story  of  sufferings  and  sorrows,  as  though  the  nar- 
rator were  the  only  sufferer,  and  were  entitled  to  a  monopoly 
of  all  the  passing  pity. 


Note  59,  page  169  . 

This  compendium  of  the  moral  acquirements,  entering  into 
the  character  of  an  accomplished  philosopher,  I  consider  one 
of  the  happiest,  which  any  book  of  morals  can  show.  Here 
is  an  ample  volume  of  ethics,  on  a  page.  How  differently  would 
a  modern  auto-biographer  have  announced  the  same  facts  !  In 
what  rounded  periods  and  circuitous  expressions  would  he 
have  striven  to  convey  the  same  ideas,  to  impress  the  reader, 
that  his  modesty  forbade  the  frank  personality  of  the  Roman 
philosopher.  The  whole  spirit  of  this  admirable  summary 
would  have  evaporated  in  barren  generalities.  What  we  ad- 
mire in  the  ancients  is  their  noble  simplicity  and  directness, 
which  disdains  the  vanity  of  circumlocution,  that  wishes  to 
hide  itself  under  the  semblance  of  modesty.  ,  » 

It  seems  to  me,  that  it  would  not  be  amiss  for  the  clergy  of 
the  day  to  seek  the  models  of  their  homilies  and  sermons  in 
such  a  manner  of  declaring  moral  truth.  Abstract  ethical  de- 
clamation, and  all  the  scholastic  acquirements  and  the  lima 
labor  are  but  poor  substitutes  for  that  searching  directness, 
which,  avoiding  abstractions  and  generalities,  appeals  at  once 
to  the  personal  consciousness.  I  allow,  that  I  should  love  to 
hear  such  sermons,  as  that  of  Dr  Primrose  to  his  fellow  pri- 
soners, in  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  There  is  no  eloquence, 
there  can  be  none,  except  in  simple  and  direct  appeals  to 
thought  and  conscience. 

Note  GO,  page  171. 

Various  writers  of  splendid  genius  have  tasked  their 
imagination,  to  present  us  with  the  results  of  endowing  a  per- 
son with  immortality  on  earth.  Such  a  character  has  been 
delineated  with  great  power  by  Godwin,  in  his  St  Leon  ;  and 
by  Croly  in  the  story  of  Salathiel,  or  the  Wandering  Jew.  It 
is  an  instructive  labor,  to  record  the  wanderings,  changes, 
weariness,  abandonment,  and  final  despair  of  a  wretch  cursed 


288 


with  immortality  ;  and  by  the  circumstance  rendered  a  mon- 
ster, out  of  relation  with  human  beings  ;  and  cut  off  from  all 
real  sympathy  with  his  mortal  kind.  It  is  questionable, 
whether  these  writers,  or  any  others  who  have  drawn  similar 
pictures,  have  formed  adequate  conceptions,  of  what  would  be 
the  actual  result  of  an  earthly  immortality.  The  view  of  the 
author  before  me  seems  just.  I  can  easily  imagine  the  im- 
mortal delivered  from  earthly  sorrows.  But,  when  I  contem- 
plate him  divested  of  the  hopes,  fears,  affections  and  sympa- 
thies, which  trace  their  origin  to  our  common  mortal  nature, 
I  cannot  imagine  the  affections,  that  are  to  replace  these. 

I  can  conceive  none  other,  than  a  being,  who  would  be- 
come drowsy  at  sixty,  and  sleepy  at  a  hundred.  All  beyond 
presents  to  me  a  lethargy  of  almost  unconscious  existence, 
from  which  my  fancy  can  devise  no  effort  of  sufficient  energy 
to  arouse  him.  In  fact,  it  is  sufficient,  that  nature  has  award- 
ed, in  her  universal  decree,  that  man  should  not  be  out  of 
analogy  and  relation  with  the  rest  of  nature  ;  to  convince  us, 
that  the  decision  involves  our  best  interest.  The  more  our 
views  of  nature  enlarge,  the  more  we  become  conscious,  that 
she  has  arranged  all  her  laws  with  such  perfect  wisdom,  that 
if  we  could  reverse  any  of  them,  we  should  do  it  at  the  expense 
of  our  own  happiness. 

Of  all  pictures  of  men,  rendered  immortal  upon  earth,  the 
roost  forcible,  brief  and  revolting,  is  that  of  Swift.  'After  this 
preface,  he  gave  me  a  particular  account  of  the  Struldbrugs 
among  them.  He  said,  they  commonly  acted  like  mortals, 
till  about  thirty  years  old  ;  after  which  they  grew  melancholy 
and  dejected,  increasing  in  both  till  they  came  to  fourscore. 
This  he  learned  from  their  own  confession  ;  for  otherwise, 
there  not  being  more  than  two  or  three  of  that  species  born 
in  an  age,  they  were  too  few  to  form  a  general  observation 
by.  When  they  come  to  fourscore  years,  which  is  reckoned 
the  extremity  of  living  in  this  country,  they  had  not  only  all 
the  follies  and  infirmities  of  other  men,  but  many  more,  which 
arose  from  the  dreadful  prospect  of  never  dying.  They  were 
not  only  opinionative,  covetous,  peevish,  morose,  vain,  talka- 


289 


tive,  but  incapable  of  friendship,  and  dead  to  all  natural 
affection,  which  never  descended  below  their  grandchildren. 
Envy  and  their  impotent  desires  are  their  prevailing  passions. 
But  those  objects,  against  which  their  envy  seems  particularly 
directed,  are  the  vices  of  the  younger  sort,  and  the  death  of 
the  old.  By  reflecting  on  the  former,  they  find  themselves 
cut  off  from  all  possibility  of  pleasure  ;  and  whenever  they 
see  a  funeral,  they  lament,  and  repine,  that  others  have  gone 
to  a  harbor  of  rest,  at  which  they  can  never  hope  to  arrive. 
They  have  no  remembrance  of  anything,  but  what  they  learn- 
ed, and  observed  in  their  youth  and  middle  age,  and  even 
that  is  very  imperfect ;  and  for  the  truth  or  particulars  of 
any  fact,  it  is  safer  to  depend  on  common  tradition,  than  their 
best  recollection.  The  least  miserable  among  them,  are 
those,  who  turn  to  dotage,  and  entirely  lose  their  memories. 
These  meet  with  more  pity  and  assistance,  because  they  want 
many  bad  qualities,  which  abound  in  others. 

'  If  a  Struldbrug  happen  to  marry  one  of  his  kind,  the  mar- 
riage is  dissolved  of  course,  by  the  courtesy  of  the  kingdom, 
as  soon  as  the  younger  of  the  two  comes  to  be  fourscore  ;  for 
the  law  thinks  it  a  reasonable  indulgence,  that  those,  who  are 
condemned,  without  any  fault  of  their  own,  to  a  perpetual 
continuance  in  the  world,  should  not  have  their  misery  doubled 
by  the  load  of  a  wife.  As  soon  as  they  have  completed  the 
term  of  eighty  years,  they  are  considered  dead  in  law.  At 
ninety  they  lose  their  teeth  and  hair,  and  have  no  distinction 
of  taste,  but  eat  and  drink  whatever  they  can  get,  without 
relish  or  appetite.  The  diseases  they  were  subject  to,  still 
continue  without  increasing,  or  diminishing.  In  talking,  they 
forget  the  common  appellations  of  things,  and  the  names  of 
persons,  even  of  those,  who  are  their  nearest  friends  and  re- 
lations. For  the  same  reason,  they  can  never  amuse  them- 
selves with  reading,  because  their  memory  will  not  serve  to 
carry  them  from  the  beginning  of  a  sentence  to  the  end ;  and 
by  this  defect  they  are  deprived  of  the  only  entertainment 
whereof  they  might  be  capable. 

'  They  were  the  most  mortifying  sight  I  ever  beheld,  and 
25 


290 

the  women  more  horrible  than  the  men.  Besides  the  usual 
deformities  in  extreme  old  age,  they  acquired  an  additional 
ghastliness,  in  proportion  to  their  number  of  years,  which  is 
not  to  be  described ;  and  among  half  a  dozen,  I  soon  distin- 
guished who  was  the  oldest,  although  there  was  not  above  a 
century  or  two  between  them. 

'The  reader  will  easily  believe,  from  what  I  have  heard 
and  seen,  that  my  keen  appetite  for  perpetuity  and  life  was 
much  abated.  I  grew  heartily  ashamed  of  the  pleasing  visions 
I  had  formed,  and  thought  no  tyrant  could  invent  a  death  into 
which  I  would  not  run  with  pleasure,  from  such  a  life.  The 
king  heard  all  that  had  passed  between  me  and  my  friends 
upon  this  occasion,  and  rallied  me  very  pleasantly,  wishing  I 
could  send  a  couple  of  Struldbrugs  to  my  own  country,  to 
arm  our  people  against  the  fear  of  death.' 

Note  61,  page  171. 

Fear,  absolutely  useless,  gratuitous  fear,  probably  consti- 
tutes much  the  largest  proportion  of  the  whole  mass  of  hu- 
man misery  ;  and  of  this  proportion  the  fear  of  death  is  the 
principal  part.  There  are  but  very  few  people  who,  in  exam- 
ining the  feeling  of  revulsion  and  horror,  most  constantly 
present  to  their  minds,  will  not  find  it  to  be  the  dread  of 
death.  The  whole  observation,  which  I  have  made  upon 
human  nature,  has  only  enlightened  me  the  more  as  to  the 
universality  and  extent  of  the  influence  of  this  evil.  I  see  it 
infusing  bitterness  into  the  bosoms  of  the  young,  before  they 
are  as  yet  capable  of  reflection  ;  and  ceasing  not  to  inspire 
its  terrors  into  the  heart,  which  has  experienced  the  sorrows 
of  fourscore  winters.  I  see  little  difference  in  the  alarm 
with  which  it  darkens  the  mind  of  the  heir,  elate  with  youthful 
hope,  and  the  galley  slave  —  those  apparently  the  most  happy, 
and  the  tenants  of  penitentiaries  and  lazar-houses.  All 
cling  alike  convulsively  to  life,  and  shudder  at  the  thought  of 
death. 

Part,  and  perhaps  the  greater  part,  of  this  fear  is  a  sad 


291 


heritage,  which  has  been  transmitted  down  to  us,  an  accu- 
mulating fund  of  sorrow,  for  a  hundred  generations.  I  have 
stated  my  conviction  in  another  place,  that  our  education,  re 
ligious  ceremonies,  domestic  manners,  in  short,  all  the  influ- 
ences of  the  present  institutions  of  society  tend  to  increase 
this  evil.  I  am  well  aware,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  num- 
ber of  those,  who  will  admit  it  to  be  an  evil,  is  but  small. 
Most  view  it  as  it  has  been  considered  in  all  Christian  coun- 
tries, from  time  immemorial,  as  an  instrument  in  the  hand  of 
God  and  his  servants,  to  awe,  and  restrain  the  mind,  recall 
it  from  illusions  and  vanities,  and  reduce  it  to  the  seriousness 
and  obedience  of  religion.  The  broad  declamation  of  the 
pulpit  for  effect,  revolting  representations  of  hell-torment 
and  the  vindictive  justice  of  God,  have  passed  with  a  readier 
tolerance,  under  a  kind  of  tacit  allowance,  that  if  the  means 
were  unworthy,  the  proposed  end  was  such  as  would  sancti- 
fy them.  It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  remark,  that  all  my 
hope  of  producing  any  useful  impression  is  with  the  small, 
but  growing  number,  (in  the  next  age,  I  trust,  it  will  be  a 
majority)  who  hold  this  whole  doctrine  in  utter  unbelief ; 
who  have  no  faith  in  amendment  and  conversion,  that 
grows  out  of  the  base  and  servile  principle  of  fear ;  and  least 
of  all  the  fear  of  death;  who  believe  that  a  great  reform,  a 
thorough  amelioration  of  our  species,  will  never  be  effected, 
until  it  is  made  a  radical  principle  of  our  whole  discipline, 
and  all  our  social  institutions,  to  bring  this  servile  passion 
completely  under  the  control  of  our  reason.  With  these,  it  is 
a  deep  and  fixed  conviction,  that  every  thing  base,  degrading 
and  destructive  of  intellect  and  improvement,  readily  asso- 
ciates with  fear  ;  and  that  the  basis  of  true  religion,  generous 
conception,  high  thoughts  and  really  noble  character,  is  firmly 
laid  in  a  young  mind,  when  trained  to  become  as  destitute 
of  fear,  as  if  it  were  conscious  of  being  a  sinless  angel, 
above  the  reach  of  pain  or  death. 

It  would  be  to  no  purpose  for  me  to  pause  in  this  place,  to 
obviate  the  strictures  of  those  who  will  denounce  this  doc- 
trine, by  quoting  from  the  scriptures  the  frequent  inculcations 


292 

of  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  the  Apostle's  declaration,  that 
by  the  terrors  of  the  Lord  we  persuade  men.  The  true  and 
religious  fear,  inculcated  in  the  scriptures,  not  only  has  no 
relation  to  the  passion  I  am  discussing,  but  cannot  exist,  any 
more  than  the  other  requisite  traits  of  religious  character,  in 
a  bosom  swayed  by  the  grovelling  and  selfish  passion  of  ser- 
vile fear. 

That  nature  has  implanted  in  our  bosoms  an  instinctive. 
dread  of  death,  I  readily  admit.  But  fear,  as  a  factitious  and 
unnatural  addition  to  the  true  instincts  of  human  nature,  has 
been  so  accumulated  by  rolling  down  through  a  hundred 
generations,  that  we  are  in  no  condition  to  know  the  de- 
gree, in  which  nature  intended  we  should  possess  it.  We 
have  innumerable  base  propensities,  which  we  charge  upon 
nature,  that  are,  in  fact,  no  more,  than  the  guilty  heritage, 
bequeathed  us  by  our  ancestors.  Nature  could  have  implant- 
ed no  higher  degree  of  instinctive  dread  of  death,  than  just 
what  was  requisite,  to  preserve  the  race  from  prodigal  waste, 
or  rash  exposure  of  a  gift,  which,  once  lost,  is  irretrievable. 
If  nature  has  inwrought  in  any  constitution  one  particle  of 
fear,  beyond  what  was  required  for  this  result,  she  has,  as  in 
all  other  excessive  endowments,  granted  reason  and  judg- 
ment, to  regulate,  and  reduce  it  to  its  due  subordination. 

Will  not  religion  achieve  the  great  triumph  of  casting  out 
the  base  principle  of  fear  ?  I  would  be  the  last  to  deny,  or 
undervalue  the  trophies  of  true  religion.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  religion  has,  in  innumerable  instances,  extracted  the  pain 
and  poison  from  the  sting  of  death.  More  than  this,  it  would 
unquestionably  produce  this  triumph  in  every  case,  if  every 
individual  were  completely  under  the  influence  of  the  true 
principle.  It  would  attain  this  end  by  processes  and  disci- 
pline exactly  concurrent,  if  not  similar,  with  those  I  am  about 
to  propose.  But  it  is  a  lamentable  fact,  that  very  few  are 
under  the  influence  of  true  religion.  Of  those,  whom  chari- 
ty deems  most  sincerely  pious,  under  all  professions  and 
forms,  the  far  greater  number  exhibit,  on  the  bed  of  dan- 
gerous sickness,  the  same  fear  of  death  with  the  rest..  We 


293 


consider  this  a  generally  conceded  fact  ;  for,  among  all  but 
the  most  extravagant  sects,  death-bed  terror,  or  triumph  has 
ceased  to  be  considered  a  test  of  the  personal  religion  of  the 
deceased.  Even  in  the  cases  of  enthusiastic  triumph  in  the 
last  moments,  which  we  have  all  witnessed,  and  which  are 
justly  so  soothing  to  the  survivors,  it  would  often  be  difficult 
to  determine  the  respective  influence  of  laudanum,  and  partial 
insanity  doing  its  last  work  upon  the  nervous  system.  «• 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  triumph  over  the  fear  of  death,  which 
I  would  inculcate,  should  not  be  tested  by  the  equivocal  de- 
portment of  the  patient,  in  the  near  view  of  death ;  but  by 
his  own  joyous  consciousness  of  deliverance  from  this  tor- 
menting thraldom  and  bondage,  during  his  whole  life.  Let 
fear  and  horror  crowd  what  bitterness  they  may  into  the  last 
few  hours,  it  can  bear  but  little  proportion  to  the  long  agony 
of  a  whole  life,  passed  in  bondage  through  fear  of  death.  To 
produce  the  desired  triumph,  the  highest  training  of  philoso- 
phy should  concur  with  the  paternal  spirit  and  the  immortal 
hopes  of  the  gospel :  and  a  calm,  reasoning,  unboasting  fear- 
lessness of  death  should  enable  us  to  taste  all  the  little  of 
pure  and  innocent  joy,  that  may  be  found  between  the  cradle 
and  the  grave  —  as  unmolested,  as  unsprinkled  with  this  fear, 
as  if  the  destroyer  were  not  among  the  works  of  God. 

How  may  this  result  be  obtained  ?  How  may  a  genera- 
tion be  so  trained  as  to  lose  not  a  particle  of  enjoyment,  nor 
be  influenced  to  one  unworthy  act,  by  the  fear  of  death  ? 
To  answer  these  questions,  in  the  requisite  detail  of  illustra- 
tion, would  require  volumes.  It  might,  perhaps,  best  be 
done  by  selecting  a  single  child  as  an  example  ;  and  by  de- 
veloping, at  every  advancing  step,  the  process  of  his  training ; 
pointing  out  every  instance,  in  which  it  would  be  necessary 
to  withdraw  him  from  the  influence  of  the  present  systems 
of  discipline  ;  in  which,  in  a  word,  his  whole  education  should 
be  conducted  with  a  preponderant  purpose,  among  other 
desirable  results,  to  render  him  perfectly  fearless  of  death. 
It  is  hoped  that  some  one  of  those,  who  believe  this  a  chief 
desideratum  in  the  reformation  and  improvement  of  the 
25* 


294 


present  system  of  education,  will  take  this  great  point  in 
hand  ;  and  in  this  way  indicate  to  the  age  the  modes  of  dis- 
cipline, through  which  this  result  may  be  expected.  It  is 
obvious,  that  a  much  severer  discipline  would  be  required  for 
the  first  generation  so  trained,  than  for  the  second  ;  who,  with 
less  transmitted  cowardice  than  their  parents,  would  perpet- 
uate a  constantly  improving  moral  constitution  to  the  genera- 
tions to  come.  My  present  plan  admits  only  a  brief  sum- 
mary of  motives  and  arguments,  commonly  adduced,  as  cal- 
culated to  diminish,  regulate,  and  subdue  the  fear  of  death. 
It  is  evident,  that  these  motives  and  arguments  are  predicated 
upon  present  opinions,  and  such  as  may  be  supposed  capable 
of  acting  upon  the  existing  generation,  enduring  the  heredi- 
tary and  inculcated  bondage  of  this  passion. 

1.  The  terrific  and  undefinable  images  of  horror,  that  imagi- 
nation affixes  to  the  term  death,  are  founded  in  an  entire  mis- 
conception.    The  word  is  the  sign  of  no  positive  idea  what- 
ever.     It  conjures  up  a  shadowy  horror  to  the  mind,  finely 
delineated,  as  a  poetic  personage,  by  Milcon ;  and  implies 
some  agony  that  is  supposed  to  lie  between  the  limits  of  ex- 
istence and  non-existence,   or  existence   in   another  form. 
This  is  simple  illusion.     So  long  as  we  feel,  death  is  not  —  and 
when   we  cease  to  feel,  or  commence  feeling  in  a  changed 
form,  death  has  been :  — fuit  mors.     So  that  the  term  imports  a 
mere  phantom  of  the  imagination.     In  the  words  of  Droz,  '  it 
is  not  yet ;  or  it  is  past.'     If  one  can  arrest  thepunstum  stans, 
and  the  actual  sensation,  where  waking  consciousness  ter- 
minates, and  sleep  commences,  he  can  tell  us,  what  death  is. 
Every  one  is  conscious  of  having  passed  through  this  change  ; 
but  no  one  can  give  any  account,  what  were  his  sensations  in 
the   dividing  moment  of  interval  between  wakefulness   and 
sleep. 

2.  Imagination  is  allowed  to  settle  all  the  circumstances,  and 
form  all  the  associations  belonging  to  the  supposed  agony  of 
this  event.     It  is  one  of  the  few  important  incidents  in  life, 
upon  which  reason  is  never  allowed  to  fix  a  calm  and  severe 
scrutiny.    It  has  been  seen  in  a  light,  too  sacred  and  terri- 


295 


ble,  to  permit  such  a  lustration.  '  It  is  dreadful,'  says  com- 
mon apprehension,  '  for  it  is  the  breaking  up  the  long  and 
tender  partnership,  and  producing  a  separation  between  the 
body  and  the  soul — dreadful,  because  it  is  the  wages  of  sin,  and 
is  appointed  to  be  a  perpetual  memorial  of  the  righteous  dis- 
pleasure of  God  in  view  of  sin ;'  '  dreadful,'  say  others,  who 
most  unphilosophically  believe  that  man  was  not  originally 
intended  to  be  mortal,  '  because  a  violence  upon  nature  ; 
dreadful,  because  a  departure  of  the  spirit  from  the  regions 
of  the  living,  and  the  light  of  the  sun,  into  an  unknown  and 
eternal  condition.  Suns  will  revolve,  moons  wax  and  wane, 
years,  revolutions,  ages,  counted  by  all  the  particles  of  mist 
in  the  sea,  will  elapse,  but  the  place,  whence  the  spirit  is  gone, 
will  never  know  it  more.'  '  It  is  terrible,'  says  common  ap- 
prehension, '  for  it  is  often  preceded  and  accompanied  by 
spasm,  and  convulsive  struggle.'  The  psalmody,  which  we 
sing  in  church,  speaks  of  the  ghastly  paleness,  the  chill  sweat, 
and  the  mortal  coldness,  circumstances  all,  which,  seen  in  other 
associations,  would  assume  no  aspect  of  peculiar  terror. 

Then,  too,  the  attendants  in  the  sick  room  with  a  look  of 
horror  inspect  the  extremities  of  the  patient,  and  petrify 
bystanders  with  the  terrible  words,  'he  is  struck  with  death,' 
as  though  the  grisly  phantom  king  of  the  poet's  song  had  in- 
visibly glided  in,  and,  with  his  icy  sceptre,  given  his  victim 
the  blow  of  mortal  destiny.  Who  knows  not  that,  though 
there  are  usually  mortal  symptoms,  which  enable  an  experi- 
enced eye  to  foresee  approaching  dissolution,  the  term 
death-struck  imports  nothing  but  the  weakest  vulgar  preju- 
dice, a  prejudice  under  the  influence  of  which  millions  have 
been  suffered  to  expire,  that  might  have  been  roused  !  Innu- 
merable persons,  pronounced  to  be  in  that  situation,  have  ac- 
tually recovered  ;  and  no  moment,  in  the  ordinary  forms  of 
disease,  can  with  any  certainty  be  pronounced  beyond  hope 
and  the  chances  of  aid,  but  that  which  succeeds  the  last  sigh. 
Thus  every  thought  of  the  living,  and  every  aspect  of  the  dy- 
ing, by  a  wayward  ingenuity,  heightens  the  imagined  horror 
of  the  event. 


296 

Then  there  are  conversations  and  hymns  and  funeral  odes 
and  Night  Thoughts,  which  speak  of  the  coldness,  silence 
and  eternal  desolation  of  the  grave  ;  as  though  the  uncon- 
scious sleeper  felt  the  chill  of  the  superincumbent  clay,  the 
darkness  of  his  narrow  house  or  this  terrible  isolation  from  the 
living.  The  pale  and  peaceful  corse  is  contemplated  with  a 
look  of  horror.  Two,  of  stout  heart  and  tried  friendship,  abide 
near  the  kneaded  clod,  until  the  living  are  relieved  from  their 
ghostly  terrors,  by  its  deposition  out  of  their  sight  in  the  nar- 
row house.  The  family,  the  children,  the  friends  alike  show- 
ing the  creeping  horror,  glide  quick  and  silently  on  tiptoe 
through  the  apartment,  where  the  sleeper  lies.  The  first 
nightfall  after  the  disease  is  one  of  peculiar  and  unmitigated 
horror.  The  family,  however  disinclined  to  union  before,  this 
evening  unite,  with  that  impress  on  their  countenances,  which 
words  reach  not.  Now  return  to  their  thoughts  the  nursery 
tales,  the  thrilling  narratives  of  haunted  houses  and  wander- 
ing ghosts  ;  and  if  the  minister  comes  among  them,  it  is  pro- 
bably to  evoke  before  their  imaginations  condemned  spirits 
doomed  to  eternal  sufferings,  quenchless  flames,  groans  with- 
out respite,  and  all  the  ineffable  and  eternal  torments,  that 
the  clerical  vocabulary  of  centuries  has  accumulated. 

Need  we  wonder,  that  in  a  Christian  country,  and  among 
families  of  the  best  training,  such  impressions  have  become  so 
universal,  that  they,  who  would  be  reputed  brave,  blazon  their 
courage,  by  affirming  their  readiness  to  sleep  in  a  cemetery, 
or  the  funeral  vault  of  a  church  !  It  requires  no  extraordinary 
effort,  and  nothing  more  than  the  simple  triumph  of  reason 
among  the  faculties,  to  enable  any  man,  to  sleep  alone  in  a 
charnel  house  with  as  little  dread,  as  in  the  apartment  of  an 
inn,  so  that  the  places  were  alike  in  comfort  and  salubrity. 
It  does  not  require  us  to  be  wise,  or  courageous  ;  but  simply 
not  cowards  and  fools,  to  feel  as  little  horror  in  the  view  of 
CGises,  as  statues  of  plaster  or  marble.  One  of  the  most  ter- 
rible ideas  of  death,  after  all,  is,  that  we  shall  thus,  immedi- 
ately upon  our  decease,  inflict  this  shrinking  revulsion  of  ter- 
ror upon  all,  who  look  at  our  remains. 


297 


The  view,  which  reason  takes  of  the  sick  and  dying  bed  is, 
that,  in  the  far  greater  number  of  mortal  cases,  the  transition 
from  life  to  death  is  as  imperceptible,  as  the  progress  of  the 
sun  and  the  seasons.  One  faculty  dies  after  another.  The 
victim  has  received  the  three  warnings  unconsciously.  Ordi- 
narily, a  person  may  be  said  to  have  paid  a  third  part  of  his 
tribute  of  mortality  at  fortyfive  ;  half  at  fiftyfive  ;  and  the 
whole  at  three  score  and  ten. 

When  acute  and  severe  sickness  assails  the  patient,  he  has 
passed  thi'ough  what  may  be  called  the  agony  of  death  at 
a  very  early  period  of  his  disease.  His  chief  suffering  is 
past,  as  soon  the  irritability  and  the  vigorous  powers  of  life 
have  been  broken  down.  When  the  disorder  assumes  the 
typhoid  and  insensible  form,  the  dull  sleep,  that  precedes  the 
final  rest  of  the  tomb,  is  already  creeping  upon  him ;  and  se- 
vere suffering  is  precluded.  If  there  are  convulsions  after 
this,  as  often  happens,  they  are  seldom  more  than  spasmodic 
movements,  impressed  by  the  nervous  action  upon  the  ten- 
dons, more  terrible  to  the  beholder,  than  the  sufferer ;  differ- 
ing little  from  those  starts  and  struggles,  with  which  many 
persons  in  high  health  commence  sleeping  and  waking.  He 
who  has  experienced  the  sensation  of  fainting,  and,  still  more, 
of  an  epileptic  fit,  has  suffered,  I  am  ready  to  believe,  all  that 
there  is  in  dying. 

3.  Reason,  calmly  surveying  the  case  of  the  dying  person 
himself,  sees  many  alleviations,  of  which  imagination,  sketch- 
ing under  the  influence  of  the  dread  of  death,  takes  no  account. 
He  finds  himself,  in  this  new  predicament,  the  absorbing  ob- 
ject of  all  interests  and  all  solicitude  and  affection.  Tt  is  not  in 
human  nature,  that  this  should  not  call  up  complacent  emotions 
and  slumbering  affections  from  their  secret  cells.  The  sub- 
sequent progress  towards  the  last  moment  brings  an  imper- 
ceptibly increasing  insensibility,  manifested  by  drowsiness  and 
sleep.  Of  those,  who  preserve  the  exercise  of  their  facul- 
ties entire  to  the  last,  many  instances  are  recorded  of  persons, 
who  had  shown  the  most  unmanly  dread  of  death  in  their 
health,  that  have  met  dissolution  with  the  calmness  of  perfect 


298 

self-possession.  Of  the  rest,  the  greater  number  die  with 
little  more  apparent  pain  and  struggle,  than  accompany  the 
act  of  sleeping.  The  greater  freshness,  vigor  and  nervous 
irritability  of  young  people  and  children  cause  that  most  of 
the  exceptions  are  of  this  description.  In  a  great  number  of 
cases,  which  I  have  witnessed,  I  have  paused  in  doubt,  wheth- 
er the  person  had  yielded  his  last  sigh,  or  not,  after  he  had  ac- 
tually deceased.  To  soften  the  last  infliction,  nature  almost 
invariably  veils  it  under  a  low  delirium,  or  absolute  uncon- 
sciousness. 

4.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  more  obvious  and  unquestion- 
able principle  of  philosophy,  than  that  every  reasoning  faculty 
of  our  nature  must  declare  to  us,  loudly  and  unequivocally, 
and  with  an  influence  as  strong  as  reason  can  command,  that 
it  is  wisdom,  nay,  the  dictate  of  the  least  portion  of  common 
sense,  to  dread,  to  resist,  to  repine,  to  groan,  as  little  as  possi- 
ble, in  vicvr  cf  s.n  endurance  absolutely  inevitable.  If  it  be 
hard  to  sustain  when  met  with  a  fearless,  resigned  and  un- 
murmuring spirit,  it  must  certainly  be  still  harder,  when  we 
are  obliged  to  bend  our  necks  to  it  with  the  excruciating  addi- 
tion of  shrinking  fear,  dreadful  anticipation  and  ineffectual 
struggles  to  evade  it,  and  with  murmurs  and  groans,  at  finding 
the  inutility  of  these  efforts.  Innumerable  examples  prove  to 
us,  that  nature  has  kindly  endowed  us  with  reason  and  men- 
tal vigor  to  such  an  extent,  that,  under  the  influence  of  right 
motive  and  training,  no  possible  form  of  suffering  can  be 
presented,  over  which  this  power  may  not  manifest,  and  has 
not  manifested  a  complete  triumph. 

Of  these  innumerable  examples,  it  is  only  necessary  to 
cite  those  of  the  martyrs,  of  all  forms  of  religion.  These 
prove  farther,  that  this  undaunted  self-possession,  in  every 
conceivable  shape  and  degree  of  agony,  \vas  not  the  result  of 
a  rare  and  peculiar  temperament,  a  want  of  sensibility,  or  the 
possession  of  uncommon  physical  courage  ;  that  it  was  not  be- 
cause there  was  no  perception  of  danger,  or  susceptibility  of 
pain  ;  this  magnanimity,  this  impassibility  to  fear  and  pain 
and  death  has  been  exhibited  in  nearly  equal  degrees  by  peo- 


299 


pie  of  every  age,  each  sex  and  all  conditions.  Let  the  pro- 
per motive  be  supplied,  let  the  martyr  have  had  the  common 
influence  of  the  training  of  his  faith,  and  the  consequence 
failed  not.  All  the  shades  and  varieties  of  natural  and  mental 
difference  of  character  were  noted  in  the  deportment  of  the 
sufferers.  But  they  were  alike  in  the  stern  proof  of  a  courage, 
which  defied  death.  The  fact  is  proved  by  them,  as  strongly 
as  moral  fact  can  be  proved,  that  the  mind  of  every  individual 
might  find  in  itself  native  self-possession  and  vigor,  to  enable 
it  to  display  an  entire  ascendency  over  fear,  pain  and  death. 
Nor  does  this  fact  rest  solely  for  support  on  the  history  of 
martyrs,  or  sufferers  at  an  Auto  dafe,  or  by  torture  in  any  of 
its  forms.  We  could  find  examples  of  it  in  every  department 
of  history,  and  every  view  of  human  character.  The  red  men 
of  our  wilderness,  as  we  have  elsewhere  seen,  are  still  more 
astonishing  illustrations  of  this  fact—  I  say  astonishing, 
because  the  timid  and  effeminate  white  man  shivers,  and 
scarcely  credits  his  senses,  as  he  sees  the  young  Indian 
warrior  smoking  his  pipe,  singing  his  songs,  boasting  of  his 
victories  and  uttering  his  menaces,  when  enveloped  in  a  slow 
fire,  apparently  as  unmoved,  as  reckless  and  unconscious  of 
pain,  as  if  sitting  at  his  ease  in  his  own  cabin.  All,  that  has 
been  found  necessary,  by  this  strange  people,  to  procure  this 
heroism,  is,  that  the  children,  from  boyhood,  should  be  con- 
stantly under  a  discipline,  every  part  and  every  step  of  which 
tends  directly  to  shame  and  contempt  at  the  least  manifesta- 
tion of  cowardice,  in  view  of  any  danger,  or  of  a  shrinking  con- 
sciousness of  pain  in  the  endurance  of  any  suffering.  The 
males,  so  trained,  never  fail  to  evidence  the  fruit  of  their  dis- 
cipline. Sentenced  to  death,  they  almost  invariably  scorn  to 
fly  from  their  sentence,  when  escape  is  in  their  power.  If  in 
debt,  they  desire  a  reprieve,  that  they  may  hunt,  until  their 
debts  are  paid.  They  then  voluntarily  return,  and  surrender 
themselves  to  the  executioner.  Nothing  is  more  common 
than  for  a  friend  to  propose  to  suffer  for  his  friend,  a  parent 
for  a  child,  or  a  child  for  a  parent.  When  the  sufferer  re- 
ceives the  blow,  there  is  an  unblenching  look,  which  mani- 


300 


fests  the  presence  of  the  same  spirit,  that  smokes  with  apparent 
unconcern  amidst  the  crackling  flames. 

A  proof,  that  this  is  the  fruit  of  training,  and  not  of  native 
insensibility,  as  others  have  thought,  and  as  I  formerly  thought 
myself,  is  that  this  contempt  of  pain  and  death  is  considered 
a  desirable  trait  only  in  the  males.  To  fly,  like  a  woman,  like 
her  to  laugh,  and  weep,  and  groan,  are  expressions  of  contempt, 
which  they  apply  to  their  enemies  with  ineffable  scorn.  The 
females,  almost  excluded  from  witnessing  the  process  of  Spar- 
tan discipline,  by  which  the  males  acquire  their  mental  har- 
dihood, partake  not  of  the  fruits  of  it,  and  with  some  few  ex- 
ceptions, are  shrinking  and  timid,  like  the  children  of  civiliza- 
tion. 

I  know,  that  there  will  not  be  wanting  those,  who  will  con- 
demn alike  the  training  and  the  heroism,  as  harsh,  savage,  un- 
feeling, stoical  and  unworthy  to  be  admitted,  as  an  adjunct  to 
civilization.  But  no  one  will  offer  to  deny,  that  the  primitive 
Christian,  put  in  conflict  with  a  hungry  lion,  that  Rogers  at 
the  Smithfield  stake,  that  the  young  captive  warrior,  exulting, 
and  chanting  his  songs  while  enduring  the  bitterest  agonies 
that  man  can  inflict,  in  the  serene  and  sublime  triumph  of 
mind  over  matter,  and  spirit  over  the  body,  is  the  most  im- 
posing spectacle  we  can  witness,  the  clearest  proof  we 
can  contemplate,  that  we  have  that  within  us  which  is  not 
all  of  clay,  nor  all  mortal ;  or  doubt,  that  these  persons  en- 
dure infinitely  less  physical  pain,  in  consequence  of  their 
heroic  self-possession,  than  they  would  have  suffered,  had  they 
met  their  torture  in  paroxysms  of  terror,  shrinking  and  self- 
abandonment. 

However  we  may  reason,  however  we  may  decry  these 
views,  as  savage,  impracticable,  unnatural  and  undesirable, 
the  fact  is,  that  we  all  feel  alike  upon  this  subject.  The 
thousands  in  a  Roman  amphitheatre  only  evinced  a  trait, 
that  belongs  to  our  common  nature,  when  they  instantly, 
and  without  consulting  each  other,  gave  the  signal  to  save 
that  gladiator,  who  most  clearly  manifested  cool  self-possession 


301 


and  contempt  of  death.  After  witnessing  the  execution  of  a 
criminal,  who  shows  courage,  the  spectators  go  away  describ- 
ing, with  animated  gesture,  and  in  terms  of  admiration,  the 
fearlessness  of  the  fellow  the  moment  before  his  death.  We 
all  speak  with  unmingled  satisfaction  of  the  circumstance, 
in  the  death  of  our  friends,  that  they  departed  in  the  con- 
scious dignity  of  self-possession  and  hope.  All  readers  are 
moved  with  one  sensation,  as  they  read  the  record  of  the  no- 
ble trait  in  the  character  of  Caesar,  gracefully  folding  him- 
self in  his  mantle,  after  he  had  received  so  many  mortal  thrusts. 
Few  of  us  hear  unmoved  of  the  old  English  patriot,  who  re- 
quested the  executioner  to  support  him  up  the  steps  to  the 
scaffold,  adding  that  he  would  shift  for  himself  to  get  down  ;  or 
of  the  other,  who  cried,  as  he  stooped  his  head  to  tne  block, 
dulce  et  decorum  est  pro  pairia  mori  !  If  I  recollect,  it  is  Silli- 
man,  who  gives  the  affecting  notice  of  the  last  hours  of  the 
duke  of  Richmond,  the  late  governor  general  of  Canada.  In- 
vested with  all  conceivable  circumstances  to  render  life  de- 
sirable, he  was  bitten  by  a  favorite  dog  in  a  rabid  state  ;  and 
died,  in  the  most  excruciating  tortures,  of  the  terrible  hydro- 
phobia. When  the  horrible  paroxysm  was  felt  by  him  to  be 
approaching,  he  was  accustomed  to  nerve  his  sinking  cour- 
age by  these  words;  'Henry,  remember,  that  none  of  your 
ancestors  were  cowards.'  I  give  the  trait  from  recollection, 
but  have  heard  substantially  the  same  account  from  other 
sources.  This  is  the  secret  of  the  perverse  general  admira- 
tion of  warriors,  and  heroes,  and  great  generals.  It  is  this 
principle  in  its  blindness,  which  finds  a  niche  of  favor  in  so 
many  hearts  for  duellists.  In  a  word,  intrepidity,  deny  it  who 
may,  is  the  trait  which  finds  more  universal  favor  with  hu- 
man nature  in  general  than  any  other.  Why  ?  Because  we 
are  weak  and  frail  beings,  exposed  to  innumerable  pains 
and  dangers ;  and  the  quality  we  most  frequently  need,  is 
courage.  Without  it  life  is  a  living  death,  a  long  agony  of 
fear.  With  it,  we  die  but  once,  enduring  at  the  most  but 
a  momentary  pang,  never  anticipated,  never  embittering  a 
moment  in  advance  with  imaginary  suffering. 
26 


302 


We  have  no  hesitation  in  affirming,  that  it  would  be  no  more 
difficult  to  educate  the  coming1  generation  of  civilized  people 
to  this  spirit,  than  it  is  to  impart  it  to  the  whole  race  of 
males  among  the  red  men.  However  inferior  we  may  count 
these  people,  in  comparison  with  ourselves  in  other  respects, 
they  have  at  least  one  manifest  advantage  over  us  ;  they  nev- 
er torment  themselves,  because  they  know  they  must  die. 

But  we  are  told  that  the  actual  possession  of  this  spirit  would 
produce  such  a  recklessness  of  life,  that  the  great  ends  of 
Providence  would  be  defeated  ;  and  people  would  expose 
themselves  to  death  with  so  little  concern,  that  the  race  would 
waste  away  and  become  extinct  We  never  need  combat  a 
theory,  an  abstract  opinion,  when  the  case  can  be  settled  by  a 
fact  Is  it  so  with  the  warriors  of  the  red  men  ?  On  the  con- 
trary, can  another  people  be  found  so  wary,  so  adroit  to  evade, 
or  resist  danger,  so  fertile  in  expedients  to  save  life  ?  The 
coward  of  their  number  meets  the  death  he  would  fly  ;  and 
the  intrepid  warrior  puts  forth  all  the  resources  of  his  in- 
stinctive sagacity,  all  his  keen  and  practised  discernment, 
to  discover  the  best  means  of  evasion.  If  he  must 
meet  that  death,  which  his  skill  cannot  evade,  nor  his 
powers  resist,  he  instantly  settles  down  upon  the  resource 
of  his  invincible  heroism  of  endurance. 

In  fact,  one  of  the  direct  fruits  of  the  intrepidity  we  would 
wish  to  see  universal,  is,  that  it  will  give  its  possessor  all  pos- 
sible chances  for  preserving  health  and  life.  It  saves  him 
from  the  influence  of  fear,  a  passion  among  the  most  debilita- 
ting, and  adverse  to  life,  of  any  to  which  our  nature  is  sub- 
ject. Braced  by  his  courage,  he  passes  untouched  amidst  a 
contagious  epidemic,  to  which  the  timid  and  apprehensive  na- 
ture falls  a  victim.  In  danger  it  gives  him  coolness  and  self- 
command,  to  discover,  and  avail  himself  of  all  his  chances  of 
wise  resistance,  or  probable  escape.  In  sickness,  he  has  all 
the  aids  to  recover,  which  nature  allows,  in  being  delivered 
from  the  most  dangerous  symptom  in  innumerable  maladies, 
the  debilitating  persuasion  of  the  patient,  that  he  shall  not 
rise  from  his  sickness.  In  a  word,  the  direct  reverse  of  the 


303 


charge  is  the  fact.  The  wise  and  enlightened  fearlessness, 
which  I  consider  it  so  important  to  acquire,  is  in  every  way  as 
much  the  preserver  of  life,  as  it  is  indispensable  to  happiness  ; 
as  cowardice  proverbially  runs  in  the  face  of  the  hideous  mon- 
ster that  it  creates. 

5.  The  fact,  that  an  evil  is  felt  to  be  alleviated,  which  is 
shared  in  common  with  all  around  us,  has  been  generally  re- 
cognised, though  this  perverted  sympathy  has  been  traced  to 
the  basest  selfishness,  by  a  humiliating  analysis  of  our  nature, 
which  I  have  neither  space  nor  inclination  to  develope.  We 
all  know,  that  the  same  person,  who  is  most  beneficent,  most 
active  in  his  benevolence,  and  large  in  his  wishes  to  do  good, 
would  shrink  from  a  great  calamity,  which  he  saw  himself  destin- 
ed to  encounter,  for  the  firs!  and  the  last  among  his  whole  race. 
But  inform  him,  that  by  an  impartial  award  he  shares  it  in  com- 
mon with  all  his  kind,  and  you  reconcile  him  at  once  to  his 
lot.  Whether  the  spirit  of  his  resignation  in  this  case  be 
pure,  or  polluted  in  its  origin,  it  is  not  my  present  purpose  to 
inquire.  It  is  sufficient  to  be  assured,  that  there  is  such  a 
feeling  deeply  inherent  in  human  nature.  The  suffering  pa- 
tient, as  he  lays  himself  down  to  part  from  all  friends,  to  be 
severed  from  all  ties,  to  see  the  green  earth,  the  bright  sun, 
and  the  visible  heavens  no  more,  and  to  be  conscious,  that  the 
everlasting  circle  of  ages  will  continue  its  revolutions  without 
ever  bringing  him  back  to  the  forsaken  scene,  cannot  repine, 
that  he  has  been  put  upon  this  bitter  trial  alone.  He  must  be 
deeply  conscious,  view  it  in  what  aspect  he  may,  that  it  pre- 
sents no  new  harshness  nor  horror  to  him.  Of  all  the  countless 
millions,  that  have  passed  away,  and  been  replaced  by  others, 
like  the  vernal  leaves,  death  has  stood  before  every  solitary 
individual  of  the  mighty  mass,  the  same  phantom  king  of  ter- 
rors. Each  has  contemplated  the  same  inexorable,  irreversi- 
ble award,  been  held  in  the  same  suspense  of  hopes,  and  fears, 
and  compelled  to  endure  the  same  struggles.  Looking  upon 
the  immense  mortal  drama  of  ages,  the  actors  seem  slowly  and 
imperceptibly  to  enter,  and  depart  from  the  scene.  But  in  the 
lapse  of  one  short  age,  the  hopes,  fears,  loves  and  hatreds  of 


304 


all  the  countless  millions  have  vanished,  to  be  replaced  by 
those  of  another  generation.  The  heart  swells  at  the  recol- 
lection how  much  each  of  these  mortals  must  have  endured, 
in  this  stern  and  inevitable  encounter,  as  measured  by  our  own 
suffering  in  the  same  case.  It  is  only  necessary  for  the  pa- 
tient to  extend  his  vision  a  few  years  in  advance  of  his  own 
decease  ;  and  his  friends,  his  children,  his  visitants,  all  that 
surround  him,  will  in  their  turn  recline  on  the  same  bed. 
Who  cannot  feel  the  palpable  folly  of  repining  at  an  evil 
shared  with  all,  that  have  been,  are,  or  will  be  ! 

'  Not  to  tliy  eternal  resting  place, 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone  : 
*         *         Thou  shall  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world,  with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth,  the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms  and  hoar}'  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     The  hills, 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient   as  the  sun  ;  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between; 
The  venerable  woods,  rivers,  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks, 
That  make  the  meadows  green,  and,  poured  round  all, 
Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.' 

6.  Philosophers  and  moralists  will  readily  admit,  that  the 
only  easy  and  adequate  remedy  for  the  fear  of  death  is  the 
hope  of  immortality.  On  the  other  hand,  they,  whose  voca- 
tion it  is  to  question  and  decry  the  aids,  which  reason  and 
philosophy  offer  in  the  case,  as  sullen,  cold,  stoical,  will  not 
deny,  that  '  innumerable '  examples  have  been  offered  in 
all  countries,  and  in  all  time,  of  men,  who,  in  virtue  of  no 
higher  discipline  than  that  of  reason  and  philosophy,  have 
met  death  with  such  unshrinking  and  invincible  firmness,  as 
could  hardly  have  been  rendered  more  illustrious  by  any  ad- 
ditional motives.  They  have  shown,  beyond  all  question, 
that  nature  has  furnished  us  with  a  power  of  resist- 


305 


ance,  "which,  when  rightly  called  forth,  enables  us  to  triumph 
over  fear  and  death.  The  pagans  of  ancient  story,  the  un- 
believing of  Christian  lands,  the  red  men  of  our  forests,  offer 
us  demonstrations  to  any  extent.  I  am  aware,  in  what  places 
this  simplest  of  all  truths  is  weekly  denied.  Those,  for 
whom  I  write,  are  of  the  number  who  exact  the  truth ;  and  I 
have  no  fear  to  declare  it ;  nor  would  I  contend  for  a  mo- 
ment with  such  as  deny  this  fact. 

But  I  am  not  the  less  sensible,  that  the  triumph,  in  these 
cases,  is  bitter  and  painful.  It  can  only  be  obtained  by  a  vio- 
lence done  to  instinctive  nature,  connected  with  innumerable 
revulsions  and  horrors,  and  to  all  those  ineffable  clingings  to 
earth,  and  shrinkings  from  the  first  step  into  the  unknown 
land,  that  are  partly  the  heritage  of  nature,  and  partly  the  result 
of  the  concurrent  influence  of  all  our  institutions.  It  is  a  vio- 
lence to  all  the  passions,  affections,  hopes  and  fears  fostered 
by  the  earth.  But  the  victory  has  been  wrought,  and  can  be 
wrought,  even  though  the  bosom,  in  which  it  is  wrought  be^ 
come  as  of  iron. 

But  the  same  triumph  is  won  by  the  hope  of  immortality,  by 
a  process,  simple,  easy,  natural,  in  entire  consonance  with  the 
most  tender  affections  and  lively  sympathies  of  flesh  and 
blood.  We  lie  down  in  pain  and  agony,  with  a  spirit  of  easy 
endurance,  if  we  have  a  confident  persuasion  that,  during  the 
night,  we  shall  have  shaken  off  the  cause  of  our  sufferings, 
and  shall  rise  to  renewed  health  and  freshness  in  the  morning. 
Death  can  bring  little  terror  to  him,  who  believes  that  its 
darkness  will  instantly  be  replaced  by  the  light  of  another 
scene :  and  that  the  separation  from  friends  in  the  visible 
land,  is  only  rejoining  the  more  numerous  group,  who  have 
already  become  citizens  of  the  invisible  country. 

To  what  extent  am  I  the  subject  of  this  hope  myself;  and 
whence  do  I  derive  my  belief?  These  are  questions  which 
affection  will  ask  ;  and  the  answers,  if  devoid  of  interest  now, 
will  not  be  so  when  the  memory  of  things  that  were  shall 
come  over  the  mind  of  the  reader  like  a  cloud,  and  when  read, 
as  the  thoughts  of  one,  who,  during  his  whole  sojourn,  felt 
26* 


306 


and  reflected  intensely  upon  those  subjects  ;  and  who  will 
then  himself  have  passed  away  to  the  experience  of  all  that 
which  is  here  matter  of  discussion.  Those  moat  dear  to  me 
will  know  what  relations  I  sustained  to  these  subjects,  dur- 
ing the  best  part  of  my  life  ;  and  will  not  be  without  solicitude 
to  know  my  final  thoughts  upon  them  ;  thoughts,  purified  at 
least  from  all  stain  of  party  interest  and  esprit  du  corps,  and 
put  forth  in  the  simple  consciousness  of  my  own  convictions, 
however  they  may  be  powerless  to  produce  belief  in  the  mind 
of  any  other.  With  the  fierce  war  cry  of  sects  in  religion,  in 
their  acrimonious  and  never  ending  contests  about  abstract 
terms  without  a  meaning,  their  combats  about  the  vague  and 
technical  phrases  of  formulas  of  faith,  I  have  long  since  had 
nothing  to  do.  For  many  years  they  have  rung  on  my  ear 
like  the  distant  thunder  of  clouds  that  have  passed  by.  To 
the  denunciations  of  those,  who  assume  to  hold  all  truth  im- 
prisoned in  their  articles  of  confession,  if  I  might  hope  the 
distinction  of  receiving  them,  I  am  perfectly  callous.  Neith- 
er would  I  desire  to  add  another  book  to  the  millions  of  vol- 
umes of  polemic  theology  which  already  exist,  and  which 
have  as  little  bearing  upon  the  knowledge,  virtue  and  happi- 
ness of  the  age,  as  the  last  year's  snow.  • 

We  are,  after  all,  unconsciously  influenced,  and  that  in  no 
slight  degree,  by  authority,  however  humble  may  be  its 
claims,  as  a  test  of  truth.  How  did  such  a  person  believe 
on  such  a  point  ?  Many  a  young  aspirant  suspends  his  opin- 
ion, until  he  hears  ;  and  settles  into  fixed  persuasion  after- 
wards. How  many  are  there,  in  Christian  lands  especially, 
w"ho  have  never  had  a  wandering  or  unbelieving  doubt  of 
the  soul's  immortality  float  over  their  minds  ?  How  many, 
who  have  had  no  terrene  and  gross  ideas,  influenced  by 
seeing  the  tenement  of  flesh,  by  which  all  that  was  call- 
ed the  mind  and  the  soul  stood  visible  to  the  eye,  and  tangi- 
ble to  the  thought,  yielded  up  to  consumption  and  decay  ? 
This  is  a  question  which  no  one  can  answer  for  another.  For 
myself,  I  believe  unhesitatingly,  and  with  no  stain  of  doubt} 
that  I  shall,  in  some  way,  exactly  provided  for  by  Him  who 


307 


made  me,  exist  after  death,  as  simply  conscious,  that  I  am  the 
same  person,  as  I  am  now  in  the  morning,  that  I  slept  at 
night.  Do  I  derive  this  conviction  from  books  and  reasonings  ? 
I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  I  do ;  though  the  gospel  assured- 
ly speaks  directly  to  my  heart.  I  do  ready  homage  to  the 
talents  and  learning  of  Clarke,  Locke,  Paley,  Channing  and  a 
cloud  of  reasoning  witnesses,  of  whom  every  Christian  may 
well  be  proud  ;  and,  most  of  all,  to  the  profound  and  admirable 
Butler. 

I  hear  the  author  of  our  faith  directly  declaring  a  resur- 
rection and  immortality.  A  single  asservation  from  such  a 
source  were  enough.  But  I  find  him  reasoning,  and  insist- 
ing less  upon  the  fact,  than  I  should  have  expected,  had  he  in- 
tended to  implant  it  in  the  mind,  as  it  were  a  truth,  chiefly  to 
be  apprehended  by  the  understanding.  It  seems  to  me  that 
he  so  discusses  it,  as  one  who  was  aware  that  it  was  already 
inwoven  in  the  sentiments  and  hearts  of  his  hearers,  vague, 
dark,  without  moral  consequence,  it  may  be  ;  but  an  existing 
sentiment,  taken  for  granted,  upon  which  he  might  predicate 
his  doctrines,  as  upon  a  thousand  other  facts,  which  we 
can  clearly  perceive,  he  considers  already  admitted  by  his 
hearers.  • 

Let  a  man  walk  in  the  fields  on  a  June  morning  after  night 
showers.  Let  him  seat  himself  for  meditation  on  the  hill-side, 
under  the  grateful  canopy  of  foliage.  Let  him  ask  himself  to 
embody  his  conceptions  of  the  divinity,  and  to  give  form  and 
place  to  the  Author  of  the  glorious  scene  outstretched  before 
him.  He  may  have  just  risen  from  reading  the  admirable  de- 
monstrations of  Clarke,  and  the  astronomical  sermons  of  Chal- 
mers. He  may  concentrate  his  conceptions  by  a  fixedness 
of  study,  that  may  amount  to  pain.  He  may  bewilder 
his  faculties,  in  attempting  to  embody  something,  that  his- 
thoughts  and  reasonings  can  grasp.  I  know  not  what  the 
powers  of  others  can  achieve  in  this  case.  But  I  know,  by 
painful  experiment,  what  mine  cannot.  I  ask  my  understand- 
ing and  reasoning  powers  about  this  glorious  Being.  They 
inform  me  that  it  is  a  subject  that  comes  not  within  their 


308 

purview.  They  can  follow  the  chain  of  reasoning,  see  that 
every  link  is  complete,  and  the  demonstration  irresistible. 
But  when  they  wish  to  avail  themselves  of  their  new  truth, 
they  have  no  distinct  idea  either  of  premises  or  conclusion. 
It  has  evaporated  in  the  analysis. 

I  ask  my  heart,  or  the  source  of  my  moral  sentiment,  be 
it  what  it  may,  the  same  question.  The  grateful  verdure,  the 
matin  freshness,  the  glad  voices,  the  aroma  of  flowers,  the 
earth,  the'rolling  clouds,  the  sun,  all  the  lamps,  that  will  burn 
in  the  firmament  by  night,  my  o.rn  happy  consciousness  in 
witnessing  this  impressive  scene,  cry  out  a  God.  To  my 
heart,  it  is  the  first,  the  simplest,  most  obvious  thought,  pre- 
senting itself,  it  seems  to  me,  as  soon  as  the  consciousness  of 
my  own  existence  ;  certainly  susceptible  of  as  little  doubt.  I 
have  no  need  to  define,  analyze,  embody.  The  moment  I  at- 
tempt to  do  it,  my  thoughts  are  vague  and  unsettled.  I  yield 
myself  to  the  conviction.  My  heart  swells  with  gratitude, 
confidence,  love.  So  good,  so  beneficent  a  Being  can  do 
nothing  but  good,  in  this  or  any  other  world,  to  him  who  loves 
and  trusts  him,  and  strives  to  obey  his  laws. 

My  most  treasured  hopes  of  immortality  are  from  the  same 
source.  Will  this  conscious  being,  capable  of  such  remote 
excursions  into  the  two  eternities  between  which  its  exist- 
ence is  suspended,  live  beyond  the  present  life  ?  Not  a  par- 
ticle of  matter,  for  ought  that  appears,  can  be  annihilated. 
Will  the  nobler  thoughts,  the  warmer  affections  perish,  as 
though  they  had  not  been  ?  We  ask  our  senses,  and  they  can 
give  us  no  hope.  The  body  lives,  and  we  speak  of  it  as  in- 
cluding the  conscious  being.  We  see  it  die,  pass  under  the 
empire  of  corruption,  molder,  and  incorporate  with  its  kindred 
elements.  The  sensible  evidence,  that  the  person  exists,  is 
entirely  destroyed.  The  most  insatiate  appetite  of  our  na- 
tures, however,  craves  continued  existence,  and  ceases  not  to 
eeek  for  it.  The  inquirer  after  immortality  cannot  but  be  in 
earnest  in  this  pursuit.  The  arguments  of  the  venerable  sa- 
ges of  old  are  spread  before  him.  From  the  soul's  nature, 
from  the  unity  of  consciousness,  the  incorruptibility  of  thought, 


309 


the  everlasting  progress,  of  which  our  faculties  are  capable, 
the  strong  and  unquenchable  desire  of  posthumous  fame,  the 
sacredness  of  earthly  friendships,  and  similar  arguments,  they 
strove  to  establish,  on  the  basis  of  reasoning,  the  conviction 
of  immortality. 

From  these  reasonings  he  repairs  to  the  Scriptures.  A 
strange  book,  utterly  unlike  any  writings  that  had  appeared 
before,  declares  that  we  shall  exist  forever.  The  religion 
which  has  arisen  from  this  book,  in  its  whole  structure  and 
dispensation,  is  predicated  on  the  assumed  fact,  that  we  shall 
exist  forever  in  another  life,  happy  or  miserable,  according  to 
our  deeds  on  earth.  Jesus,  the  author  and  finisher  of  this  faith, 
announces  himself  the  resurrection  and  the  life  ;  with  -a  voice 
of  power  calls  his  dead  friend  from  the  tomb  ;  declares,  that 
death  has  no  power  over  himself;  that,  after  suffering  a  violent 
death,  on  the  third  day  from  that  event,  he  shall  arise  from  the 
dead.  He  arises,  according  to  his  promise  ;  and,  in  the  midst 
of  his  awe-struck  friends  he  visibly  ascends  to  his  own  celes- 
tial sphere.  Millions,  as  by  one  impulse,  catch  the  spirit  of 
this  wonderful  book  —  love  each  other  with  anew  and  single- 
hearted  affection,  as  unlike  the  spirit  of  all  former  ties  of 
kindness  and  love,  as  the  doctrines  of  this  religion  are  differ- 
ent from  those  of  paganism.  The  new  sect  look  with  a  care- 
less eye  upon  whatever  is  transitory  ;  and  will  submit  to  pri- 
vation, derision  and  torture,  of  whatever  form,  rather  than 
waver,  or  equivocate,  in  declaring  themselves  subjects  of  this 
hope  of  immortality.  This  Christian  hope,  in  every  period 
from  the  time  of  its  author,  has  made  its  way  to  the  heart  of 
millions,  who  have  laid  themselves  down  on  their  last  bed,  and 
felt  the  approach  of  their  last  sleep,  expecting,  as  confidently 
to  open  their  eyes  on  an  eternal  morning,  as  the  weary  labor- 
er, at  his  evening  rest,  trusts  that  he  shall  see  the  brightness 
of  the  morrow's  dawn. 

I  recur,  with  new  and  undated  satisfaction,  to  these  argu- 
ments for  the  soul's  immortality.  1  love  to  evoke  the  vener- 
able shaches  of  Socrates  and  Plato  and  Cicero,  and  hear  them, 
each  in  his  own  way,  persuade  himself,  that  the  thoughts  and 


310 


affections,  of  which  he  was  conscious,  could  only  belong  to  an 
immortal  spirit.  I  listen  to  the  eloquent  and  impressive 
apostrophe  of  Tacitus,  to  the  conscious  spirit  of  him,  whose 
life  he  had  so  charmingly  delineated,  with  feelings  which  I 
cannot  well  describe. 

'  Si  quis  piorum  manibus  locus  ;  si,  ut  sapientibus  placet,  non 
cum  corpore  extinguontur  magn®  anirnse,  placide  quiescas  ; 
nosque,  domum  tuam,  ab  infirmo  desiderio,  et  muliebribus  la- 
mentis,  ad  contemplationem  virtutum  tuarum  voces,  quas  ne- 
que  lugeri,  neque  plangi  fas  est :  admiratione  te  potius  tem- 
poralibus  laudibus,  et,  si  natura  suppeditet,  similitudine  de- 
cor emus.'* 

I  repair  with  new  confidence  and  hope  to  the  gospel,  and 
strive  to  imbibe  the  cheering-  conviction,  as  1  hear  Paul  sub- 
limely declare,  that  this  corruptible  shall  put  on  incorruption, 
and  this  mortal  immortality,  and  that  death  shall  be  sivallowed 
np  in  victory. 

I  have  no  disposition  to  deny  that  these  arguments  would  be, 
in  themselves,  insufficient  to  turn  the  balance  against  the  evi- 
dence of  the  senses,  and  produce  the  conviction  of  immortality 
from  the  deductions  of  simple  reason,  if  religion  were  an 
impression  to  be  raised  and  sustained  by  argument.  But,  if 
we  are  religious,  in  some  form,  from  our  very  constitution, 
if  immortality  be  felt  as  a  sentiment,  with  more  or  less  clear- 
ness and  force,  I  deem  that  these  arguments  have  their  ap- 
propriate effect,  in  giving  form  and  direction  to  this  interior 
sentiment ;  that  believers  have  been  such,  because  these 
doctrines  have  found  a  concurrent  sympathy  in  their  spirit,  a 
suitableness  to  the  wants  of  their  heart,  a  development  of  the 
germ  of  their  hopes.  It  seems  to  me,  that  whoever  has  a 
heart,  cannot  look  upon  the  earth  and  the  firmament,  without 
exclaiming  '  there  is  a  God,'  nor  within  himself,  without  a 
conviction,  that  his  soul  is  immortal. 

I  see  in  the  enthusiasm,  — the  embraces,  cries,  tears,  swoon- 
ings  and  the  revolting  extravagances  of  various  sects  under  the 
influence  of  high  religious  excitement,  nothing  more  than  the 

*  Tacit.  Vit.  Agricolse,  ad6n. 


311 


morbid  development  of  this  latent  religious  sentiment.  In- 
stead of  being,  as  scoffers  affirm,  subjects  of  a  mere  facti- 
tious intoxication,  these  people,  who  seem  only  to  demand 
wings,  to  soar  aloft,  are  only  manifesting  the  unregulated 
action  of  nature  working  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts. 

For  myself  I  feel  that  I  am  immortal,  and  that  those  fellow 
sojourners,  to  whom  I  have  been  attached  by  the  affection  of 
long  intimacy,  and  the  reception  of  many  and  great  kindness- 
es, will  exist  with  me  hereafter.  I  pretend  to  conceive  noth- 
ing, I  wish  to  inquire  nothing,  about  the  mode,  the  place  and 
circumstances.  I  should  as  soon  think  of  disturbing  myself, 
by  endeavoring  to  conceive  the  ideas  that  might  be  imparted 
by  a  sixth  sense.  Tt  is  sufficient  that  my  heart  declares,  that  a 
being  who  has  seen  this  glorious  world,  cherished  these  warm 
affections,  entertained  these  illimitable  aspirations,  felt  these 
longings  after  immortality,  indulged  '  these  thoughts,  that  wan- 
der through  eternity,'  cannot  have  been  doomed  by  Him,  who 
gave  them,  to  have  them  quenched  forever  in  annihilation. 
Even  an  illusion  so  glorious  would  be  worth  purchasing  at  the 
price  of  a  world.  I  would  affirm,  even  to  repetition,  that  there  is 
given  us  that  high  and  stern  power,  which  implies  a  courage 
superior  tt>  any  conflict,  and  which  gives  the  mind  a  complete 
ascendency  over  any  danger,  pain  or  torture,  which  belongs 
to  life  or  death.  But  we  would  not  be  so  extravagant,  as  for 
a  moment,  to  question  that  death,  as  the  present  generation 
have  been  trained,  and  as  we  are  accustomed,  by  all  we  see,  and 
hear  to  view  it,  is  a  formidable  evil,  fitly  characterized  by 
its  dread  name,  the  king  of  terrors.  Many  a  debilitating  in- 
terior misgiving  will  assail  the  stoutest  mind,  in  certain  mo- 
ments, in  view  of  it.  There  are  dark  intervals  by  night,  in 
the  midnight  hours  of  pain,  periods  between  the  empire  of 
sleep  and  active  reason,  when  the  terrific  and  formless  image 
rushes  in  its  terror  and  indefiniteness  upon  the  mind.  As  age 
steals  upon  us,  and  the  vivid  perceptions,  and  the  bright  dreams 
of  youth  disappear,  many  a  dark  shadow  will  cloud  the  sun- 
shine of  the  soul.  The  conflict,  in  which  all  these  terrors  are 


312 


overcome  by  unaided  nature  and  reason  is,  as  has  been  seen, 
a  cruel  one.  The  tender  sensibilities,  the  keen  affections,  the 
dear  and  delusive  hopes  of  our  nature  must  all  be  crushed} 
before  we  can  be  unmoved  in  the  endurance  of  the  .pain  and 
torture  that  precede,  and  the  death  that  follows. 

It  is  only  to  a  firm  and   unhesitating   faith,  that  it  becomes 
as  easy  and   natural  to  die,  as  to  sleep.     Glorious  and  bless- 
ed hope,  the  hope  of  meeting  our  friends,  in  the  eternal  land 
of  those  who  truly  and  greatly  live   forever  !  There  we  shall 
renew  our  youth,  and  mount  as  on  the  wings  of  eagles. 
'  But  we  shall  meet,  but  we  shall  meet, 
Where  parting  tears  shall  cease  lo  flow  : 
And,  when  I  think  thereon,  almost  I  long  (o  go  ! ' 

Note  62,  page  177. 

That  is  an  unworthy  opponent,  who  assails  what  assume* 
to  be  important  truth,  by  no  better  argument  than  ridicule  and 
sarcasm.  That  is  a  despicable  one,  unworthy  of  exciting  any 
feelings  but  those  of  pity  and  contempt,  who  attempts  to 
bring  to  bear  upon  it  the  blind  and  fierce  prejudices  of  the  mul- 
titude. This  last  is  the  prevalent  mode  of  modern  attack. 
By  those,  who  deem  that  wisdom  will  die  with  them,  and  that 
they  can  learn  nothing  more,  who  dogmatize  without  examin- 
ing, and  measure  the  views  of  others  by  their  own  precon- 
ceived and  settled  opinions,  all  the  foregoing  doctrines,  which 
militate  with  the  established  prejudices  and  habits  of  the  age, 
will  be  denounced,  I  am  aware,  as  heretical,  imaginary,  false. 

He  would  teach  people  how  to  be  happy,'  say  they  with  a 
sneer,  '  as  though  they  were  not  compelled  to  pursue  happi- 
ness by  a  law  of  their  natures.'  My  business  is  not  with  such 
opponents,  and  I  should  consider  their  opposition  an  honor 
and  a  distinction. 

The  fact  will  remain  true,  be  it  welcomed,  be  it  ridiculed, 
as  it  may,  that  a  few,  in  all  time,  have  found  the  means  of  be- 
ing more  comfortable  and  happy,  than  others  in  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. They  had  a  method  of  their  own  in  creating 


313 


this  difference.  That  method  might  be  so  indicated,  as  to  be 
reduced  to  general,  and  settled  rules.  This  is  the  amount  of 
the  foregoing  doctrines.  The  object  has  been  to  discuss  and 
fix  some  of  those  rules.  No  moralist  was  ever  so  stupid,  as 
to  expect,  that  the  world  would  not  pursue  its  headlong  course, 
inculcate  whal  he  might.  Every  one,  who  understands  the 
analogy  of  the  present  to  the  past,  will  expect  that  no  form  of 
virtuous  effort  will  be  screened  from  question  and  ridicule  ;  and 
that  no  purity  of  purpose  will  conquer  the  blind  and  fierce 
hate  of  the  multitude. 

But  there  will  still  be  a  few  quiet,  reflecting  and  philosophic 
people.  What  is  better,  the  number  will  be  always  increas- 
ing. For  such,  are  these  my  labors,  and  those,  which  I  have 
adopted  from  another,  chiefly  designed.  Their  suffrage  is  an 
ample  reward.  Their  plaudit  is  true  fame.  If  they  say, '  we 
and  those  about  us  may  be  better  and  happier  ;  let  us  make 
the  effort  to  become  so,'  my  object  is  attained. 

To  encourage  us  to  shake  off  the  superincumbent  load  of 
indifference,  ridicule,  and  opposition,  and  to  make  efforts  to 
extend  virtue  and  happiness,  it  is  a  sublime  reflection,  that  a 
thought  may  outlive  an  empire.  Babylon  and  Thebes  are,  now, 
nowhere  to  be  found  ;  but  the  moral  lessons  of  the  coternpora- 
ry  wise  and  good,  despised  and  disregarded,  perhaps,  in  their 
day,  have  descended  to  us  and  are  to  be  found  everywhere. 
As  the  seminal  principles  of  plants,  borne  through  the  wide 
spaces  of  the  air  by  their  downy  wings,  find  at  length  a  con- 
genial spot,  in  which  to  settle  down,  and  vegetate,  these  seeds 
of  virtue  and  happiness,  floating  down  the  current  of  time,  are  ' 
still  arrested,  from  age  to  age,  by  some  kindred  mind,  in  which 
they  germinate,  and  produce  their  golden  fruit.  No  intel- 
lect can  conjecture,  in  how  many  instances,  and  to  what  de- 
gree, every  fit  moral  precept  may  have  come  between  the  rea- 
son and  passions  of  some  one,  balancing^between  the  course 
of  happiness  and  ruin,  and  may  have  inclined  the  scale  in 
his  favor.  The  consciousness  of  even  an  effort  to  achieve  one 
such  triumph  is  a  sufficient  satisfaction  to  a  virtuous  mind. 
27 


